The Alchemist

THE ALCHEMIST

JIM CARR

COPYRIGHT 2021 JamesWCarr

ISBN: 9781989425336

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher except as permitted by copyright law.

For permissions, contact: jimcarr@cogeco.ca

CHAPTER ONE

“You’re a thief and a rogue.” The words rushed from Gasparo Barbarigo’s mouth like a curse. Barbarigo had spent over 50 gold florins with the young man standing before him. He seemed so sure when he first visited his small laboratory on the outskirts of Venice two years ago. Only now, the young man was telling him again, for the fifth time, he was so close to making the discovery.

Barbarigo was a money changer with an inordinate appetite for gold. “I should have known better than to deal with someone who practises the black arts.”

Niccolo Billini straightened up. “Not black arts, Signore Barbarigo, but pure chemistry. I spent many days and nights on your behalf doing one experiment after another without success. Turning lead into gold is not as simple as it sounds, but I still believe it can be done.” He looked at his hands and lower arms burnt from handling chemicals, and his face twisted in anger.

Barbarigo stroked his grey beard, which failed to hide red streaks on his cheeks. “If you ever succeed, you owe me everything.”

Niccolo tried to smile. Barbarigo shook his head and gathered his blue cloak around his shoulders. He looked back at Niccolo from the door. “May God give you ill will.”

The door slammed behind him, rattling the ceramic dishes on his experiment table. Niccolo glanced at the table where his latest experiment was boiling under two candles.

For three years, he laboured in the small shack with two small windows in the wall behind the desk. His lab had housed pigs waiting for shipment to Rome before, and it took him a full month to wash down all the walls and floor and another month of burning incense to get rid of their

smell. The windows were too small and too high to light up the room, requiring him to light two candles to do experiments. The table was littered with packages containing various metals and vials of different chemicals. He also ate his lunch and supper there as well, sitting on his one chair.

He stared at the table filled with metals and chemicals for his experiments. For the first time since he started, he felt down. He wasn’t sure if he could go on and that may be he should give up. Or even try some other type of work. Maybe he would be better off refining people’s gold and silver or making gunpowder for hunters and wealthy families to guard their homes. He looked down at his doublet, a hand down from his grandfather. It was a bit large for him, and the elbows had frayed. He was 32 and should be buying his own clothes and even married by now. His father warned him that he had a stubborn streak and would either get him into trouble or doom him to failure. He could still hear his father’s voice. He knew he had a one-track mind and was not about to give up now that he was close to making the discovery. It would make up for everything.

He removed the candles from under the ceramic pot in which he mixed his chemicals and metals. Another failure. He picked up a package of gun powder he had prepared earlier and took a pinch to rub between his fingers. The servant of one of the merchants always commented on it. Some of the powder fell into the ceramic pot, and a huge, ear-shattering explosion knocked him to the floor, setting off the package of gun powder a few feet from him.

His doublet caught fire and singed his black hair. He rolled on the floor to smother the fire, and when the ringing in his ears finally stopped, he rose and grabbed the edge of the table to help him lift himself. He looked around. The explosion had also set fire to the back wall, and he went outside for a bucket of water.

His metals and chemicals were scattered around the room, and the ceramic melting pot was shattered into small pieces. He saw a shard from the ceramic pot sticking out of his leg for the first time. He withdrew it slowly and began checking his face in the small mirror behind him. Everything was fine except for another small shard sticking from his upper arm.

He looked up and saw a figure in the doorway with the sun behind him. He wasn’t sure who it was until the figure stepped inside. It was Piero Vasari, his long-time school friend, who lived next door to him.

“What happened in the name of all that’s good and holy?”

“An accident in one of my experiments,” said Niccolo, wiping his face with a dirty rag. “Here, take my chair.”

They hugged, and Piero pushed him back and looked him in the face.

“You don’t look good, Niccolo. You look pale and too thin for your own good. There is a tavern near here where the food is unbelievable.”

“I can’t go. I must clean up this mess, and I have someone coming to pick up some gunpowder for his master at any time.”

“Then mix it now, and we will go after he comes. I’m not prepared to leave until you go with me.

“I had it mixed and was checking its smoothness over my experiment when the explosion happened.”

Piero stiffened. “Show me what you did.”

Niccolo stood and showed him what he did over his ceramic melting pot.

“And that was it?”

Niccolo nodded and went back, mixing some potassium nitrate with charcoal and sulphur and testing its smoothness between his thumb and forefinger.

“Show me what you did again.” There was excitement in Piero’s eyes Niccolo had never seen before.

Niccolo took a small pinch, went to the table and rubbed it between his thumb and fingers. Piero saw a few grains fall to the table.

There was a rap on the open door. The servant, dressed in a green jacket, a small red felt tam and red leggings entered. “Is it ready?”

The servant took the package, checked its smoothness and passed him a small coin before leaving.

“Now that we’re by ourselves again, I want you to mix the ingredients and boil them as before. Can you recall what ingredients you used?”

“I am a chemist, Piero. I keep a record of every one of my experiments, including the one you’re interested in.”

The folder he kept notes of his experiments was on the floor behind the table. Piero raised his hand. “Let me get it.”

Niccolo opened the leather folder that showed burn marks on the outside, studied the top sheet for a few minutes and nodded. He found his last ceramic dish and started mixing the ingredients. Niccolo was about to put a candle under it when Piero stopped him. “We’ll take this outside.”

Piero looked around. “Would you have a wooden box?”

Niccolo bent and hauled out a small wooden box that had once contained lead. Piero took it and headed outside. Niccolo followed him with two candles and another ceramic dish in which he had mixed the ingredients. Piero upended the box and placed the ceramic pot inside under two candles, which Niccolo lit with his tinder box.

Niccolo also brought along a small bit of gunpowder, rubbed his

hands over the boiling ceramic pot and ran as fast as he could before being knocked to the ground as the pot and wooden box were hurled into the air from the explosion. For a few seconds, it shook the ground, and shopkeepers nearby ran outside and looked around. There were shouts that a nearby cannon had gone off.

Piero was hugging him and dancing at the same time. “You’re about to become a very rich man, Niccolo, and change warfare forever.”

Niccolo looked at the shards of ceramic and pieces of the wooden box scattered over the grass. “Before I do anything, I must clean up this mess, Piero.”

Five minutes later, they were back in the shack. Piero pointed to his leather folder. Take that with us, and don’t let it out of your sight. Now we eat,” he added, pushing Niccolo out the door as they headed for the tavern.

Piero was handsome and knew it. So did the barmaid, who ran to his inside as soon as they entered. “Serena, this is my dear friend, Niccolo. We have known each other since we were young boys. He is hungry.” Piero felt Niccolo’s arm. He spotted the chemical burns on Niccolo’s wrists and closed his eyes. “But first, we go to wash up. When we return, I want the best table in the tavern with two large glasses of wine sitting on the table.”

Serena was waiting for them when they returned and led them to a private room, usually reserved for assignations, with a waiter standing by to take their order. “I will remain to make sure all your wishes are met,” she said, offering Piero a knowing smile.

“Pasta and beef,” to start, “and perhaps some pie topped with meat and lentils.”

For the first few minutes, Niccolo had a hard time eating. Serena put her arms around his neck from behind his chair. “Let me help you,” she said, filling her mouth with pasta and filling his mouth with it. Piero watched and smiled. This went on for about ten minutes before Niccolo indicated he could eat alone. By the time the beef had arrived, he was eating quickly and drinking the wine more often.

The room began to swirl, and all he could remember was Serena kissing Piero.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in bed with Piero and Serena. He raised his head and looked around. His leather folder was under his pillow. That’s when Serena opened her eyes. She rose and climbed over him and dressed.

He felt queasy and looked over the side of the bed. He saw a pot with vomit in it. The smell made him vomit again.

It woke Piero, who raised himself on his elbow. “Where’s Serena?”

JIM CARR

“She left a couple of minutes ago.”

“What do you think about her?”

Niccolo shrugged his shoulders. “To be honest, I don’t remember much last night.”

“Well, she’s quite taken with you.”

Niccolo looked at him. “You were always a good liar, Piero.”

“No, honestly, I’m telling you the truth. Do you remember her feeding you through her mouth? Well, that was her excuse to kiss you.”

Niccolo wiped his mouth and went to wash up. He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked haggard. I need a shave, he said to himself. He dressed slowly and put on his shoes. His head ached and ached. He touched his head and found a cloth and cold water to rub his head.

“Another glass of wine will help. We’ll do that at breakfast.”

Piero led him into the dining room and ordered eggs, cheese, bread, and two glasses of wine.

“Today, Niccolo, I want you to put yourself in my care. We will visit a tailor first thing and get you suited properly. Then to a barber.”

“I can’t afford all this, Piero.”

“Believe me when I say you have discovered something that will make you very rich. You may think yesterday’s mishap is just an inconvenience, but I assure you, in the right hands, it can command thousands of gold florins. It is your way of turning lead into gold.”

“I don’t understand, Piero.”

Many governments would pay thousands for this. You know I am Captain of Venice’s shore battery. I know all the right people who would like to use your discovery.”

“Then you must share in this as well, the way we did when we stole grapes from the monastery’s garden when we were boys.”

“There is no need to reward me with anything. We have been friends for as long as we both can remember. Do you remember all the times we swam in the canal and grabbed the end of the boat and the owner trying to knock us away with his paddle?”

“What I remember was you swimming ahead underneath the water and surfacing two or three minutes later. I was always scared you would drown.”

Piero laughed. “You should never worry about me, Niccolo. That includes putting money in my pocket. I am doing well as it is, and I will be rewarded for bringing you to their attention.”

“No, Piero. I am not interested if you are not by my side. My mind is

made up. We do not talk about it any further.”

As they left, Niccolo spotted Piero pass Serena a gold florin. “First stop, the barbershop. Unless you’re in love with that bit of hair that poses as a beard, I suggest you shave off everything and have your hair cut in the latest fashion. Then, to the tailor’s to get you suited as a man of the world. You will then stay with me until you get a place of your own.”

“What about my lab?”

“Forget your lab and everything in it.”

“No, Piero, I will not forget it. Perhaps we can go one day and collect everything inside before I leave it forever.”

Piero’s barbershop was not far away. Piero went to Alfonso and talked to him briefly before being ushered to Alphonso’s chair. Niccolo sat in front of a large mirror and watched Alphonso play with his dark hair before washing and drying it. He then cut his hair in the latest style. Alphonso stood back and rubbed oil on his beard and skin before sharpening his razor. Alphonso led him behind a thick curtain after his shave, showing scenes of Venice and its canals where Alphonso helped him into a bathtub. Two young men appeared with buckets of warm water and dumped them into the tub. They threw a bar of soap into the tub and left him with towels to dry himself.

After the bath, Niccolo donned his clothes and entered the barbershop. Piero smiled when he saw him. “You look like the old Niccolo I used to know.”

When they went to the tailor’s, Piero reviewed all the latest cloths and the latest colours before deciding. “I think you would look great in pale blue breeches, a blue doublet, and a deep blue cape to go with it. The tailor, an older man with thinning white hair and dull grey eyes, stooped when he walked. He measured Niccolo carefully before nodding. His clothes will be ready in three days.

They returned to Niccolo’s shack and packed his belongings before heading for Piero’s rooms. It was a small apartment with a fireplace. a table where they ate, and a large bedroom overlooking the harbour.

Niccolo kept shaking his head. “In one day,” he said as they sat at the table, “my whole life has changed. And I owe it all to you.”

Piero just nodded and lit a fire in the fireplace. It was getting dark when they decided to pay our respects to the tavern again. Serena shook her chestnut-coloured hair and smiled as she saw them enter.

“Signore Niccolo, I knew you would come back. You cannot resist Serena. Am I not right?” She kissed him before leading them to their table.

“We have fresh fish tonight, Piero. I think Niccolo might like it. It is

done a special way with a new sauce created by our cook. And then we can talk again .”

CHAPTER TWO

Niccolo paraded in front of the mirror and walked back and forth before giving Piero a big smile. He could not believe how he looked. His face was a bit fatter now, and he walked with a different air. Niccolo owed Piero for that as well.

“I’ve arranged a meeting with my commanding officer at the cannon battery in the harbour for you and me. Bring along your mixture, and we’ll see how it performs in a cannon. If my hunch is right, they won’t believe what they see. By the way, I stopped by the tavern earlier today, and Serena would like to see you without me. I told you she has taken a fancy to you.”

Niccolo shook his head. He had other things to worry about. What if his mixture doesn’t work when Piero tests it with his superior? It will ruin Piero’s standing. He decided to warn Piero about his fear.

“Don’t worry about it. It will work if you have the exact mixture you made for me. Have faith in yourself.”

“You have no idea of how many times I let my client down when he came to me and asked me to find a way to turn lead into gold. I thought I could do it, but I failed every time I was sure I had the right formula. What if I am wrong now or fail to mix it precisely the way I did originally.”

“That’s possible, but I will make it clear this is our first test with a cannon and may need revising.”

Niccolo spent the rest of the day making the liquid exactly how he created it the first time.

“Make more than you need in case they want to see it tested on other cannons,” said Piero when he returned. “When you’re finished, we’ll have a great supper and get to bed early.”

Niccolo tossed and turned all night. When he told Piero about it, Piero laughed. “Neither could I. But don’t worry, everything will go off exactly

as we think it will.”

They took a carriage to the cannon battery. They had filled three large glass containers with the liquid. They staggered under their weight to get them to the street and take a carriage to the cannon battery. They sat in the carriage, exhausted and breathing hard as the carriage made its way through the road leading to the harbour and the cannon battery. The streets were filled with people coming in all directions and squeezing around other carriages going in the opposite direction. Women were emptying wash water onto the road, and young boys tapped on their windows, offering sweets for sale and singing popular songs.

Piero usually walked there. It was always quicker, but today was different. He looked at Niccolo, who was breathing hard and touched Niccolo’s arm and smiled. “It’s always like this when the stakes are high.”

The carriage stopped in front of the building where cannon soldiers stayed while waiting for duty. It also housed the Captain’s office. “You stay here and wait for me with your containers,” said Piero as he disappeared inside.

He was straight to the Captain’s office and saluted. “I am here with my associate, Niccolo Billini. We are ready when you are, Captain.”

Capt. Leonello Visconti was in his early 50s and rarely laughed. He was serious about everything. He cared about only one thing – the safety of Venice. It weighed heavily on him every minute of the day. He rarely took days off, even when ill. He had a black goatee, white gleaming teeth, and a deep, resonating voice that made you snap to attention. He studied everything there was to know about cannons and had made a name for himself in one of Venice’s battles as a young man. He dressed like a nobleman with a metal chest piece and a helmet when in battle.

“Where is this young man now?”

“Just outside. We came in a carriage to bring extra equipment in case you wished to see more demonstrations. We will need a few soldiers to carry it for us.”

Visconti nodded and picked up his sword as they headed into the main meeting room. He pointed to six soldiers to follow them as he and Piero went to see Niccolo.

“So you are the young man with a discovery that could keep Venice safe forever.” Visconti tried to hide his smile and nodded to Piero, directing the other soldiers to carry the bottles to the row of cannons a short distance away. There was a stiff wind from the harbour, and Niccolo put his hood over his head as he followed Piero and Visconti. The soldiers unloaded the bottles in front of three cannons and stood back, still wondering

what it was all about.

“Load the first cannon with an iron ball and step back,” said Piero. Niccolo took a large cup and filled it with the liquid from the first bottle. He placed it in the mouth of the cannon.”

One of the soldiers offered a bag of gun powder to Niccolo, who took a pinch, stood over the cup, and began to sift into the cup while Piero moved everyone back. Niccolo turned and ran back. Nothing happened.

Visconti shook his head and turned to leave. “Quackery,” he muttered.

Piero ran after him. “Give us another chance. You won’t be sorry.” He nodded to Niccolo, who went through the same process. Still nothing.

Visconti turned again but was stopped by Niccolo. “I know what we are missing.” He turned to Piero. “We need a brazier to heat the liquid. That’s the missing element.”

One of the soldiers returned with a brazier five minutes later and lit the charcoal. When the charcoal was red, Niccolo placed the cup atop the screen and let the mixture boil.

Visconti was getting anxious and was mumbling to himself. All Niccolo could make out was the word “incompetents.” Niccolo smiled, took the boiling cup, and put it inside the cannon. Then, Niccolo took another pinch of gunpowder, began sifting it between his thumb and forefinger, and ran back as fast as he could.

The resounding thunder shook the cannon as the iron ball sailed into the sea out of sight. Visconti had his mouth open. He didn’t speak for almost two minutes. “I can’t believe what I just saw. It must be some sorcery.”

“I assure you it is not, Captain Visconti. We can repeat this as often as you wish,” said Piero. “Can you do it again but without all the noise?”

“Not so far, but we’re working on it,” said Piero rolling his eyes at Niccolo.

“This time, I would like to see our largest cannonball used,” said Visconti, nodding at the soldiers. They chose one of the middle cannons that had a large mouth. It took two of them to roll the iron ball into the mouth of the cannon. He looked at Piero. “Will you need more gunpowder or more liquid?”

“Not sure,” piped up Niccolo. “We’ve never tried it with something this size and weight. We’ll now use a regular mixture and see what happens.” He poured more liquid into the cut and inserted it into the cannon. “Now stand back, everyone and cover your ears.”

He sifted a pinch of gunpowder into the mixture and ran back. The explosion shook the ground. Visconti, whose eyes were closed, opened them

to see the large cannonball head out to sea again and finally out of sight.

Visconti looked at Piero. “Clean up everything and bring it all to my office.”

The soldiers picked up the glass bottles and the brazier and followed them back. Visconti ushered Piero and Niccolo to a sofa in front of him. “You were right to show this to me first, Piero.”

He sat back, poured them a glass of wine, and toasted them “to the greatest discovery of the century. Has anyone else seen this?”

“You are the first. We thought the Doge and his Council might be interested in retaining Niccolo to use his discovery to keep our great public safe from those who envy us.”

Visconti was nodding and stroking his beard. “What if I approached the Council and asked them to offer you 10,000 gold florins for the sole use of your discovery and instructions to our soldiers on how to use it?”

Piero nodded to Niccolo. “Ten thousand gold florins is a handsome sum, Captain Visconti. What I have in mind is 10,000 gold florins every year.”

“They may balk at that and lock you up so no one else can get their hands on your discovery. I will see what they decide and get back to you. In the meantime, you will be guarded by four soldiers everywhere you go and stand guard against anyone trying to enter your residence.”

“Is this really necessary, Captain? Niccolo is staying with me.”

“I don’t like the feeling about this,” said Piero as they walked back to his residence. The four soldiers stood guard outside as they entered. “What do you think?”

“I think they will offer me something but hardly 10,000 gold florins.”

“So do I. We’ll need to put our heads together. Knowing the Council, we’re not likely to hear for at least another month or more while they haggle about how to remunerate you. If they don’t come back with a reasonable offer, we should consider offering it to someone else. But tonight, we’re going to forget all this, and we will visit Serena again for a great meal and a rare wine Serena keeps hidden for me.”

Serena spotted them as soon as they entered. “I think she keeps her eye on the door, hoping she’ll see you enter.”

She ran to them, pushed back her hair, and hugged them both. “You have not forgotten Serena. I am so pleased.” She kissed Niccolo on the cheek, took his arm, and led them to the dining room. “I think you do not want the private room tonight. Is Serena not right?”

When they were seated, she left to bring Piero’s special wine. “It is a celebration. I can see it in both hour eyes. If you wish, we can celebrate this together.”

Piero shook his head. “We must work early tomorrow and must have clear heads. But there will be other times when we can celebrate with our best friend.”

She returned a few minutes later with spaghetti spiced how Piero liked it and tiny beef meatballs using special knives for eating spaghetti and poured them another glass from a different wine bottle. “The wine is compliments from my father.”

Niccolo smelled the spaghetti and smiled, and shook his head. He was suddenly very hungry and waited for Piero to start eating. She brought them bread and oil and left to bring in a roast chicken and a salad.

“This will keep you sober and sharp for your morning,” she said, tossing her head and giving Niccolo a furtive look.

“We’ll have many nights like this, Niccolo, and stay in regal palaces before we’re done,” said Piero.

Niccolo shook his head. I’ll be happy just to have a good place to stay like yours and not worry about food.”

Piero shook his head. “Mark my words, and let Serena be my witness,” he said, waving her over, “before the year is out, you will change your mind completely. I want you to witness what I just said to Niccolo.”

“Just if you don’t forget me. Which reminds me, the old gentleman with the young woman seated at the table yonder would like to invite you both to chat with them.”

“What does he want?”

“I don’t think anything. He just ordered the most expensive dinner that we can offer them. And they both wear expensive clothes. When I hesitated, he took out his purse, poured a handful of gold florins, and placed one in my hand.” Serena opened her palm for them to see the coin.

Piero stood and waved Niccolo up and followed Serena to their table. The old gentleman arose and bowed. “ Please join us.”

“Let us order you something?”

“Thank you, Signore. But my friend and I have just finished dining. Let us order a bottle of wine for you instead.” Piero looked at Serena and nodded. She left to bring one of Piero’s favourites.

“It’s my favourite. I hope you will enjoy it, too,” said Piero as Serena poured them all a glass and left.

The old man raised his glass. “To new friends, and thank you for joining us.” He looked at the young woman beside him. “My named is Ercole Gonzaga. My granddaughter’s name is Dolce,” he added with a smile. “I promised to take her to Venice for her 21st birthday. Today is her birthday. So please join me in a toast to Dolce.” They stood and raised their glasses

to her.

She was blushing, heightening her cheekbones and looking at her lap. Her face was thin and beautiful, and her dark hair was shoulder-length and gleamed in the light from the candelabra above their heads. She glanced furtively at Piero and looked away to straighten the puffs on her arms.

“We come from Ferrara, where I am a successful merchant. I am looking to move my business to Venice. Do you mind my asking the station of each of you?”

“I am in charge of a group of cannons at the waterfront.”

“And you?” said Gonzaga.

“I am an unsuccessful alchemist.”

Gonzaga smiled. “I think you are modest. “We arrived by way of Firenza. We would like to tour your great city. Can you suggest the best way for us to see it?”

“By gondola first, and then retain a guide to take you through the city and show you all our great buildings,” said Piero.

“Perhaps you could guide us to a place where we could hire a reliable gondola?”

Niccolo was about to speak, but Piero spoke first. “Ordinarily, we would be pleased to, but we have an early morning and need to be as sharp as possible. Perhaps Serena might know.”

“Serena?”

“Yes, the server you talked to about us.”

Gonzaga nodded and looked at his granddaughter. Piero stood and helped Niccolo to his feet.

“I hope you have a wonderful day tomorrow and come to love Venice the way we do,” said Piero. Niccolo could tell from Piero’s voice that he was agitated about something.

Piero went to Serena and paid her for their meal. She escorted them to the door, kissing Niccolo on the lips. “Next time, bring yourself,” she said with a laugh.

“Signore Gonzaga is an interesting man, and his granddaughter is very beautiful,” said Niccolo.

“Perhaps a bit too beautiful. And why us? If he is what he says he is, I’m sure he could find someone more in keeping with his station to guide them around Venice.”

Niccolo didn’t say much all the way back to Piero’s rooms. When they opened the door, Piero gasped. His clothes and the contents of his cupboards and small pantry were strewn all over the floor. “We’ve had company, I see. Someone who was looking for your leather folder. They think

your secret formula is in it. Where did you hide it?”

“I took the back of the painting of your mother off and put my folder behind it. It was staring at them all the time.”

Piero hugged him. “You’re more clever than you appear.” He paused. “It also means someone else knows about your formula and won’t let up until they find it.”

“Visconti?”

Piero shook his head. “He’s honest as the sun and would never think about doing something like this. I suspect one of the soldiers talked about our demonstration while in his cups. We’ll have to be on our guard from this moment on.

“Now we know why the old man and his granddaughter wanted to talk to us. To keep us there as long as possible.”

The next morning, Niccolo decided he wanted to go back to his shack and do a few more experiments.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Piero.

“I’d like to tinker with the formula and see if we can reduce the amount of liquid mix and get the same results or if I increase the amount of liquid, will it be ever greater. Besides, we’ll have four soldiers guarding us all the way and all the time we’re there.”

“And I’ll alert Captain Visconti that you want to do a few more experiments and would like us guarded by at least six men during the experiments. I’ll also make sure he knows someone ransacked our place looking for your formula. Someone has been very indiscreet.”

Four soldiers marched them to the old shack the following afternoon. It was raining, and Niccolo ran ahead, spreading his palms to feel the rain, drinking the water from his hands, and laughing. “A great day for experimenting. No one around to see what we’re doing.”

The soldiers found refuge in an old barn nearby that overlooked the shack. Nicolo wasted no time in creating his formula. He boiled the mixture inside his hut and took it outside, where he sifted some gunpowder into it.

The thunder from the blast shook the ground and tossed Niccolo into the air.

CHAPTER THREE

Piero ran to Niccolo to help him sit up. Blood oozed from his ears, and he was barely breathing. Piero kept calling his name over and over without a response. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air and made Niccolo cough. Rain spattered across Niccolo’s face, and Piero took the scarf around his neck off to wipe Niccolo’s face and neck. Niccolo groaned as his eyes fluttered open.

“Did it work?” he managed to say.

“Perfectly. One thing, though, we need to find a way to contain the blast to the cannon. We can’t have gunners running away from the cannon every time they fire a shot,” said Piero. “But that’s not important right now. Keeping you alive is.”

Niccolo raised his hands to his ears. “There is a terrible ringing in my ears that doesn’t want to go away.”

Piero had two soldiers make a stretcher to carry Niccolo back to his residence. Piero put him to bed and told him stories to keep Niccolo awake. “In the morning, we’ll visit Visconti when you’re up to it.”

Niccolo was sitting against a pillow against his back and kept putting his hands to his ears. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again with all this ringing.”

Piero made him something to eat and found a bottle of grappa he had pillaged from a farm outside Venice. He added the grappa to the wine and invited Niccolo to try the wine he had from his cabinet. Niccolo coughed and coughed with the first mouthful.

“What’s in this brew of the devil?” he managed to say between coughs. “Grappa. It’s what you need for now. Drink it up. It will help you get to sleep and, hopefully, help you get rid of the ringing in your ears. They say grappa can cure anything.”

Niccolo drank the rest of the grappa and slowly relaxed as he closed

his eyes. Piero removed the pillow from behind his back and moved Niccolo’s body so that he could sleep the night through without a sore neck in the morning. He went outside to talk to the four soldiers guarding the entrance.

“Two of you must be on guard at all times, and do not let anyone past you unless you know who they are.”

Niccolo awoke at sunrise and roused Piero. “You were right about the grappa. I’m sore all over, but the ringing in my ears has gone away.”

Piero woke and made them eggs for breakfast along with thick pieces of bread and washed everything down with cold drinking water. He hobbled around the room and held onto chairs and the table to keep himself from falling. He looked at the painting of Piero’s mother and blew her a kiss before sitting down again. “Did I hear correctly that we would see Visconti this morning?” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I can make it.”

“That can wait, but not too long. It would be best if you were in top shape for what’s ahead of us. Someone, who is prepared to kill you for the formula, has already made his presence known. You need to be very nimble and be able to run like the wind before we leave here again.”

Two weeks went by very slowly. Niccolo occupied himself by building his strength in his legs and arms and scratching ideas for new changes for this formula that would not make it so deadly for the people using it.

Piero left to get food and a few more bottles of wine. There was a knock at the door. It had to be Piero with his arms full. But something made Niccolo’s heart race, and he decided to say nothing. When he didn’t respond, he could hear someone crashing their weight against the door. On the fifth crash, the door opened, and a stranger stood in the doorway with a long knife in his hands. He was tall with ham-sized hands that could choke you to death in seconds.

He had a deep gravelly voice. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” Niccolo began to shake as he took a step away from him.

“If you do not want to be disfigured for life, you will provide me with your formula now.” He took another step, and Niccolo ran into the bedroom and tried to hide under the bed.

The big man followed him inside and lifted the bed away. He grabbed Niccolo by his shirt and lifted him off the floor with one hand. “Now lead me to your hiding place,” he said, carrying Niccolo by his shirt.

Piero and four soldiers suddenly appeared at the door. “Drop him, or

we will shoot you where you stand,” said the older one, aiming his crossbow.

The big man was drooling. There was anger on his face as he threw Niccolo away. Niccolo landed against the wall and hit his head. The big man reached out for the soldiers. Two of them shot him in the chest and backed away to add another arrow.

“Shoot him in the face and forehead,” said Piero.

The shots of the other two hit him in the face. He put his hands over his cheeks, trying to remove the arrows while the other two soldiers, who had reloaded, aimed their crossbows at him. The shots entered his skull, and he collapsed on the floor. His legs continued to move and suddenly stopped.

Piero breathed out slowly.“How did he get by you?”

“Someone was trying to kill a woman a short distance from our position. We disarmed the man, and two of us took him to the lockup with a long knife at his back. This man must have slipped in when we went to stop the killing,” said one of the soldiers, a young man with a soothing voice.

“Well, get him out of here and never leave your post completely unmanned again.” ***

June arrived before Visconti sent for them. Niccolo was ready for it, and Piero was pacing the floor, wondering why it took the Council so long to make a decision. They washed and dressed slowly and looked at themselves in the mirror before going downstairs and onto the street, where two soldiers escorted them to Visconti’s office.

Visconti was waiting for them at the door and ushered them inside. He sat back in silence for a minute or two before beginning. Visconti’s desk reminded Piero of the one at the entrance of the cathedral.

“Please take a seat. I do not have good news for you. In its great wisdom, the Council has turned down your proposal. They are, however, prepared to offer each of you a pension of one thousand florins to be paid at the beginning of the year. In return, they want your formula and all other similar formulae destroyed. I suspect you will want time to think this over. I want to tell them that you will return at the beginning of July with your decision. Is that agreeable to you?”

“More than fair, Captain Visconti.”

They talked about it as they made their way back to Piero’s residence. Captain Visconti is a very fair man and would entertain a counteroffer from us to take to the Council.”

“This is getting too crazy for me, Piero. I never set out to create this formula and wish I had never discovered it. I feel like destroying it and walking away from it all.”

They went upstairs to Piero’s residence. “Let me advise you as your boyhood friend and someone with your best interests in mind. First, your life will always be in danger even if you decide that one thousand florins. They will be frightened that someone else might kidnap you and torture you until you give them your formula. The Council will see you dead before that happens. And perhaps me as well.”

The growing apprehension in Niccolo’s eyes set Piero’s mind off in all directions. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he would be a target. He had to come up with a plan to save them both, but he was becoming too irrational to develop a plan right now. Instead, they would relax at the tavern and get their minds off it. Maybe he would find inspiration there. In fact, he was sure of it.

“I think we go to the tavern tonight and see Serena. She’s a very smart young lady and also remarkably beautiful,” said Piero.

“I’m not sure. To be honest with you, Piero, I’m scared out of my wits.”

Piero noticed Niccolo’s hands shaking and put his arm around him. “I’ll make sure no one will ever hurt you. I have a long sword and am not afraid to use it. So I will always be at your side. We’ll talk about it with Serena.”

The tavern was full, but Serena dropped everything when she saw them enter. She ignored guests raising their arms for her attention as she walked past them. She hugged them both and kissed Niccolo.

“You’re busy now, Serena. We’ll talk when things quiet down.” Piero looked around at the tables filled with men and their lady friends. The laughter and noise of raised voices made it almost impossible to talk and hear. The blinds on the windows were still up, and more people were coming in.

“What’s happening?”

“One of our patrons is having an engagement party and will be here for the rest of the night. But there will be a quiet period in which we can chat.” With that, she walked away to add three plates to her arm and bring them to one of the tables.

She wore a short skirt and a white shirt covered by a vest. Her hair was black. She liked to swirl as she walked between the tables, chopping away hands trying to pinch her. She brushed them off with a deep-throated laugh.

An hour later, Serena led them into a small room just off the dining area. She brought a bottle of wine and three glasses with her and put them on a small table. The room had a musty smell and needed airing. There were no windows, and she lit two more candles to give the room a cheery atmosphere. Serena held up her arm and left, returning with another chair. She placed it next to Niccolo and poured the three of them a glass of wine.

“Now, how can Serena help you?” she said, folding her arm in Niccolo’s.

Piero told her about Niccolo’s discovery and the Council’s offer, adding, “I don’t think either of us will be safe, even if we accept the offer.”

Serena put her arms around Niccolo. “Do you have any ideas?” she said, kissing Niccolo on the neck.

“I have an idea. It will involve you. That’s why I want you to agree to it without reservations.”

“Go on.” Her voice suddenly became business-like.

“I haven’t talked to Niccoilo about it yet, but here is what I have in mind. Niccolo and I will visit your tavern every night for the next ten days. On the 11th day, I will go back to my residence without Niccolo. He will stay at the tavern with you. I will need someone about Niccolo’s height to walk back to my home with me. It will be dark, and they will see two figures leave the tavern and follow us to my residence.

Serena smiled at Niccolo. “I would love to look after Niccolo. Day and night,” she added with a laugh.

“On the next day, I will leave my residence alone, visit the tavern, and return alone. I plan to do this for a few days. I suspect people will get curious about Niccolo and enter my residence to see if he is hiding there. When they see he is not, they will come after me. That’s when I would like to disappear in the dark in your tavern. Is this something you can manage without upsetting your father?”

“Do not worry about my father. If you come after hours, I will be waiting for you inside. Just remember to go to the back. I will stay there the night you do not show up at the tavern.

Piero sat back and smiled. “It might just work. What do you think, Niccolo?”

“Even if it works, it does not solve the problem of how we escape the Council. We can’t live the rest of our lives hidden away in the tavern.”

Serena hugged him and looked into his eyes. “You won’t have to. A lot of sailors visit our tavern from all over Italy. I’m sure we can find a passage for you both on one of the ships. And I can be very persuasive,” she said, with a wink to Piero.

“We sorry to put you in harm’s way,” said Niccolo.

Serena shrugged. “Besides, it will allow us to get to know each other.”

Piero smiled and hugged her.

“You seem a bit uneasy,” said Piero when they left the tavern. “If you’re worried about how things will turn out, don’t be.”

“I was thinking about my mother. If we are to leave Venice, she should know where I will be. She will be worried sick if I don’t see her from time to time. You know my father is dead, and I am the only one she has left.”

There were bread crumbs on the counter, and Piero wiped them off. “I think someone else has visited us.”

“Why didn’t the soldiers stop them before they had a chance?”

“I’m not sure, but I will find out in the morning.” Piero paused to look around the room and their bedroom. Everything seemed in order. He took down the picture of his mother and looked at the back. Niccolo’s leather folder was still there, untouched.

“Getting back to your mother, You can write a letter while you stay at the tavern and ask Serena to deliver it to her. By the time, we will know where we are going.”

Niccolo was up most of the night, mulling over whether he wanted to go.

“I’m not sure what to do,” he mumbled as Piero made them breakfast.

“If you stay here, there is a good chance you will be murdered before the end of the year. The Council can’t afford to have you roaming around Italy and perhaps accommodating a neighbouring republic with your secrets. News about your discovery has probably spread all over Italy by now.”

Niccolo could feel his chest tighten. His father complained about that before he died. The one thing that made him feel good inside was working in his lab. “I think,” he said suddenly, “I’d like to go back to my shack and refine my formula further.”

“Maybe we had better skip it until we’re somewhere else. You realize that the soldiers will be with us, and they will report everything to Visconti.”

“I hope so. It will only make him feel we’re likely to accept the Council’s offer.”

Piero cocked his head and smiled. “You never fail to amaze me. Niccolo. Then get ready to work your magic as soon as we’ve had breakfast.

The street was filled with men carrying large packs of wool from another ship and ornaments from Egypt. Women were haggling with food stall owners, and children skipped around them and tried to steal fruit.

The four soldiers followed them to the cannon battery a short distance away. A three-mast ship was folding its sails as it glided into the harbour. “It’s from Ferrara according to its flag,” said Piero. They paused to see it drop anchor and as it tied up to the pier. The Captain left the ship with a handful of papers and headed in their direction. He stopped halfway to enter a sedan chair and closed the curtains.

They reached Niccolo’s shed, and he entered to prepare another batch of the liquid. Niccolo was too preoccupied to notice that the windows had been smashed, and there were indications that someone had entered. Many chemicals were lying on the floor, and some metals were missing. He went to the door and waved to Piero., who came running.

Niccolo waved him inside. “Someone has smashed the window and tried to enter. It’s not a big window, so the person had to be small and nimble. The chemicals are all over the floor, and some metals have been stolen.”

Piero patted him on the back. “Right now, let’s focus on refining your mixture.”

Niccolo poured a small amount into the cup and brought it out for the test. The cannon was set up, and Niccolo placed the cup inside. The soldiers stepped away from the area as Niccolo sifted some gunpowder into the cup and ran away. The explosion sent a cannonball far out into the sea. And best of all, no need to run away from the cannon. Just a few feet would do. Piero patted him on the back. “Do you want to try another?”

Piero shook his head. “It’s all in the amount of liquid used. It can be refined even more, but we can do that elsewhere.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Niccolo looked around the kitchen. It would be the last time he would ever see it again, and he didn’t want to spend the next few days and nights at the tavern with Serena and her father.

Piero hid Niccolo’s leather folder in his shopping basket along with Niccolo’s shirts, stockings and other things and stood at the door as Niccolo took his last look around the room. They walked downstairs slowly.

“Can I bring you something from the tavern?” said Piero to the two soldiers who saluted him.

“How about the server in the dining room?’ said the younger one with a laugh.

“I’ll tell her you’re the son of a nobleman and looking for a wife.”

Niccolo kept looking back to see if someone was following them. Piero shook his head. “Anyone who has made it their business to know about our whereabouts knows exactly where we’re going.”

When they reached the tavern, Serena was outside and watching them approach. Piero smiled and grabbed her around the waist, and spun her around. She laughed and shook herself free from him. “Go inside and into the room where we talk. I will come inside after a few minutes. Business is slow tonight, and I’m trying to attract a few more diners.”

Serena’s father watched them enter and go into the room off the dining room. A lone candle burning flickered on the table when they entered. Piero found two others and lit them as well. “I hate the darkness. It’s the one thing I fear when I die.”

He unloaded his basket and passed the leather folder to Niccolo. “Sit on it until I leave. “

Niccolo felt queasy. Everything had become suddenly final, and he feared going far away to someplace where he had no friends and no place he could fall back on. Piero’s talk about people wanting to kill him intensified the tightness in his chest. He tried to breathe easily. Piero could see what was happening and stood behind his chair and rubbed Niccolo’s head. “Great things await us. We will find a place to keep us from harm and treat us with the respect you deserve.”

The door opened, and Serena entered with a smile. She sat at the table and asked what they would like to eat. Serena already knew and had her father prepare two chickens for their feast. She sat on Niccolo’s lap and kissed him. Her dark hair shone in the light from the candle. She smiled and saw that they needed to smile and suggested they wait to eat until the dining room was near empty. She prattled on about local gossip and her relatives. “And so many men who offered to take me away and treat me like a queen.” She looked at Niccolo. “But the one I want does not want me.”

“Who knows what will happen in the next few days,’ said Piero with a devilish smile.

“By the way, my father will be joining us for supper. He would like to meet the great man the nobles seek out.”

An hour later, Leonello Farnese took off his apron and opened the door to their room. “Please join me for the feast I’ve prepared for us.” He held the door open for them as Serena led them to a table near the front of the dining room. Yellow and red flowers in vases at each table seemed to follow them to their table, with their scent flooding through the tavern like a mist. Serena looked as though she were ready to cry. Leonello poured each of them a glass of wine. “To my daughter’s good friends.”

He stood and carved the chicken before tackling the roast. “But first, the spaghetti, then the beef, and we the chicken and a fresh salad with newly pressed olive oil.”

Serena passed their plates around. Piero couldn’t help noticing that Niccolo ended up with the juiciest piece of beef and the best plate of spaghetti. Her father saw as well and smiled.

“The man who marries my daughter will inherit my tavern and be madly in love with her all his life and never beat her as some husbands do.” He turned to Niccolo. “I know she loves you. How do you feel about my daughter?”

“Really, Papa. You do not ask questions like this. And besides, Niccolo is very shy. You will drive him away.”

Leonello mumbled to himself. “I am sorry, Signore Niccolo.”

When supper ended, Piero slipped away before Niccolo had a chance to see him off. Niccolo felt very alone. I’ll punch him for this the next time he comes, he thought. Piero had to know how vulnerable he felt.

Serena took Niccolo to the place where he would sleep. It smelled like a woman’s room. He undressed and slipped into the bed, blowing out the candle and closing his eyes. He slept soundly, to his surprise. Light streamed in from a window at the back, and he rolled over to close his eyes again when he saw Serena lying beside him, completely naked. He hurriedly got out of bed, went into her change room, and washed and dressed. What would her father think if he happened to find him in bed with his daughter?

Serena awoke about 30 minutes later and dressed in a robe in front of him. He tried to look away but kept glancing back at her. She caught him and smiled. “If you like, you can help Papa out in the kitchen. But that is not expected of you. You are my guest and will be our guest for as long as you wish. But first, let me show you something.”

She led him into an adjoining room and opened the closet against the far wall. She opened it to reveal at least a dozen dresses. She parted them and guided his hand to a button at the top to reveal a small room. “Remember this place and how to get to it. If someone comes asking for you, you can hide there. Even if they insist on checking out every room and every closet, they will leave knowing you are not here. My father had this built when he was threatened by the Doge some years ago.”

Niccolo spent much of the day beheading, plucking chickens and cutting beef into chunks. Leonello showed him how to carve chickens and cook beef in the fireplace without burning it. He ate with Serena and her father at noon and Piero when he came with two belts and another shirt for Niccolo.

Piero smiled at him. “How do you feel now?”

“Safe. Completely safe. I work with Serena’s father in the kitchen and eat whatever I want.”

“How did you spend the night?”

Niccolo blushed. I slept soundly but found Serena in bed with me. If her father ever finds out, he will kill me.”

“I should not worry about that if I were you. Let things unfold the way fate would have them unfold.” Then after a pause: “Visconti sent me a message asking to meet with him two days from now. “It means you will need to meet me at his office to hear what he has to say.”

“I’m a little uneasy about leaving here.”

“We will just repeat the process. We will return to my rooms and leave in the evening for the tavern again and use the same person to take your place on the way back. The soldiers are asking about you and are getting a bit suspicious.”

When Niccolo told Serena, she shook her head. “I fear you will draw attention to the tavern and your enemies and watch everyone who comes and leaves our tavern. I think he should find a place to hide after your meeting and come back to the tavern after dark.” ***

Visconti was talking to someone in his office when they arrived. “We’re here to see the Captain,” said Piero. “He’s expecting us.”

The soldier at a desk in front of Visconti’s office shook his head. “You’ll have to wait.” He pointed to a bench on the opposite wall. They sat and watched the flow of people coming in and out of the building. Niccolo was getting nervous. If he had his way, he’d get up and leave and never come back. He was not cut out for this kind of life and wished he were back fishing in the harbour with his father. He loved the clean smell of the wind from the sea and watching ships sail into and out of the harbour. The waterfront was always the same – hundreds of people walking back and forth along the road.

Through the small window in Visconti’s door, they could see a man dressed as a noble rising from his chair and Visconti shaking his head. The man seated himself and gripped the handles of his chair. Their discussion went on for another hour before Visconrti’s guest left. He was in his late seventies and limped when he walked. He used a cane, which he used to open the door to the outside. Piero stood to see him enter a carriage.

“Captain Visconti is free to see you,” said the soldier at the desk. They entered to see Visconti with his hands at his head and looking out the window.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. The meeting with my previous visitor lasted much longer than either of us expected and solved nothing in the end.”He sat back and tried to smile. “I understand you solved a major problem with your magic formula. Congratulations. But that is not why I invited you here.”

Piero learned towards him and tried to stop moving his hands.

“That gentleman you saw leave my office is a member of the cabinet. “He is against paying you anything and feels that as a citizen of Venice, you are obligated to provide your formula to them. Either that, have both of you sent to the galleys until you change your mind.”

He looked them directly in the face. “You still have until the end of the month to let me know, but I would choose wisely. He is not alone. There are others like him in the cabinet. They want everything but do not wish to give anything. I am sorry to tell you this. You both deserve better. “

Visconti rose and took them to the door, shaking each of their hands with a smile. He left to enter the building with a backward glance before he disappeared.

“As soon as we’re out of sight, I want you and me to part ways. Find a place to hide until sunset and head back to the tavern. I hope to be there waiting for you.”

Niccolo found a place where he could hide – an old warehouse that looked as though it were ready to collapse at any time. He walked slowly inside and found an old chair where he could sit far enough from the window he could not be seen yet close enough for him to see the outside. He sat down and listened to rats running across the floor above. Niccolo shivered and wondered if he should look for another place. There was hardly anyone passing by, and he fell asleep. He looked around. Niccolo wasn’t sure how long he slept but noticed the shadows lengthening against the building opposite. The rats were still playing hopscotch upstairs.

Niccolo rose and walked around the warehouse. There were no windows, and the floorboards creaked as he walked by. Cobwebs hung from almost every corner. At the far right, he saw a hole. He tried to look below, but there was only darkness. Niccolo shivered and made his way back to the chair. The shadows had lengthened further, and he suddenly felt very hungry. Outside, a child was using a pole to scrape along the outside before looking inside. He spotted Niccolo and ran away crying.

That’s when Niccolo decided to leave. It would be dark soon, and he kept to the shadows of buildings as he passed them. The sun went down about 15 minutes later, and Niccolo headed toward the tavern, hugging the buildings he passed until he saw the tavern’s lights. He ran the rest of the way, going to the back, where the door opened magically for him.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Iheardyou coming around the corner,” said Serena’s father. He sat Niccolo down and waved to Serena, who walked briskly past the swinging gate at the counter and sat down next to Niccolo. She found a cloth and washed his hands. “Home at last,” she whispered in his ear.

“Are you hungry, lad?”

“Starving. Haven’t eaten all day.”

Farnese placed a large plate of spaghetti, two slices of bread, and pressed oil in front of him. For the first time, Niccolo noted the burns on Francesco Farnese’s fingers and wrists and smiled. Farnese turned to get him some wine when Niccolo stopped him. “I’d rather have water. Cold water if you have it. I haven’t had a drink of water all day, and I’m as thirsty as I am hungry.” He twirled the spaghetti on his fork and watched Serena cut him some bread.

“I have to go now. I’ll let Piero know you’re back and in the kitchen. He should wait to see you until the tavern closes.”

“What happened?” said Francesco, taking a piece of meat from the fireplace.

“Captain Visconti told us the Council refuses to pay us anything and that if we do not provide them with my formula, they will sentence us to ten years in the galleys.”

Francisco stroked his beard and shook his head. “What is wrong with those fools? Do they not know you will flee Venice and take your formula along with you?”

“I suspect they know and have decided to kill both Piero and me, no matter how agreeable I might be.”

When he finished eating, Niccolo stretched out in his chair to wait for Piero and Serena and fell asleep. He woke suddenly in a cold sweat when Piero shook him. “You’re back, safe and sound.”

“I was followed back to my rooms,” added Piero. “So from now on, just assume they’ll be watching every move we take. Tell me about you.”

“I found an old warehouse and stayed inside all day. My only company was a colony of rats on the upper floor and a young boy who happened to come by and look inside. He left in a hurry. I waited until dusk before heading out, careful to stay in the shadows of buildings along the way until it got dark.”

“Good. The game has changed. Don’t expect to see me again until it’s time to escape. I’m not sure when that will be. Just trust that I will.”

Serena put her arm around Niccolo’s shoulder. “I have an uncle who works in the harbour, who can tell me which ships are in and when they’re headed when they leave port.”

“Federigo will come with a group of his friends the night you are to leave. You will join them when they go back to the harbour. They will help you board the ship. You will need five florins for your passage,” said Francisco.

Piero left shortly afterward, saluted the two soldiers at his door, and climbed the stairs to his rooms. He used a firesteel to light a candle to see that his rooms were ransacked again. The painting of his mother was on the floor, with the back of the painting torn away. He picked up the painting and kissed it. He felt like crying but knew he didn’t have the luxury. He would take the painting to Serena and ask her to keep it for him.

He barely slept all night and spent much of the day in bed, rising only to relieve himself. He wasn’t hungry and made his mother’s favourite soup and ate it, dipping the bread that had gone hard into it. He shaved and packed his favourite clothes in a bag tied to his stomach and chest. He would wait until dark and leave when his guards could not notice.

Serena threw back the blankets and put on her night dress in front of Niccolo. She got into bed and sat up. “Come to bed. You need not be afraid of me.”

She blew out the candle, and Niccolo took off all his clothes and slid beside her. Serena turned and put her arms around him.

Serena was already dressed when Niccolo woke up. He didn’t realize how tired he was. He turned and threw the blankets over his head, already asleep by the time she lifted the blanket and kissed him on the lips. She

could feel him kiss her back, replace the blanket over him, and leave in time to serve breakfast.

Her father saw her emerge from her room and offered her a knowing smile. A dozen or more people were waiting for her as she took their orders and hurried back to her father. She read him off their orders and returned in time to see two soldiers enter. She guided them to a table and took their orders. One of them tried to pinch her, but Serena turned away. “This is not this kind of tavern. If that is what you want, kindly go elsewhere.”

The younger soldier looked sheepish. The older one raised his hand. “Can you tell us if one of our comrades, Piero Vasari, eats here?”

“Piero? That’s all I can recall.” there are two or three Pieros who visit us.” She raised her eyes. “Piero Crivelli, Piero Gritti.

“That’s strange. Signore Vasari tells us he comes here every day to eat.”

“Many people come here to eat and drink. Most of them do not tell me their names. Sorry I cannot be of more help to you. Now, what would you like to order?”

“Two eggs and some bread,” said the older one.

“The same for me.” The younger one tried to catch her eye.

They left 30 minutes later, leaving most of their food uneaten. When breakfast was over, she went to her bedroom to see Niccolo sitting at the edge of her bed, trying to put on his breeches. She bent down, picked up his shirt and passed it to him. When he was dressed, she kissed him again. “You need a shave.”

He left her to wash and shave. She was making their bed when he finished washing and ran to help her. She pushed him away. “You’d only make a mess.” When she finished, she made him sit next to her. “There’s been a development. Not a good one. I had hoped we would have more time, but you and Piero must leave tonight.”

“What happened?” he managed to say.

“Two soldiers came in for breakfast. They were asking about Piero. I put them off, but I had the feeling they did not believe me. They will be waiting for him tonight, I fear.”

“My father will get word to Zio Federigo to come tonight with his friends. That should confuse them.”

Niccolo was on edge the rest of the day, using a peephole to see if the soldiers returned. Serena returned in the afternoon with a special dessert and a sweet wine and ate with him. She rose and massaged his shoulders and back. “You’re stiff. You need to relax and keep your wits around you.” She lifted him and led him to her bed. “You need a proper massage,” she

added, turning him over to massage his neck, arms and chest.

When supper hour arrived, she dressed and got ready for work. “You stay here. And don’t budge. If you hear people talking or trying to open the door, go inside the clothes closet and wait there until I knock on the false interior.”

She kissed him again and left him with tears in her eyes. Her father looked at her, and she nodded and greeted two men and a woman as they opened the door.

It was past nine, and Piero locked his door and went downstairs to the street. The two guards greeted him and asked where he was going. They looked inside his basket and stood back. “Is there anything I bring you from the market?”

He walked quickly, stepped into the market in case someone was following him and left by a side door. The streets were thinning out. Several carts filled with produce and clothing passed him on the way to the market. When he reached the tavern, he decided not to enter by the front door. Niccolo was at the kitchen door, hoping Piero would enter that way. There was a faint knock at the door, and Francesco opened the door and pulled him inside.

“We were hoping you would enter this way. Two soldiers were here this morning, asking about you. Bet you anything, they’re waiting for you outside.”

He looked at Niccolo. “I live a charmed life, Niccolo. Stick with me, and we’ll get out of this mess in one piece and on our way to glory.”

“Forget the glory. I’ll settle for peace and safety.”

Piero passed Niccolo the painting of his mother. “I would like Serena to keep this for me when we return.

After bolting the door to newcomers a couple of hours early, Serena joined them when Niccolo passed her the painting. Federigo was holding court with the others, showing them how to drink a large glass of wine without stopping.

Francesco clapped Federigo on the back and invited them into his kitchen, where he had roasted chicken legs. “Tonight’s the night, gentlemen. These two young warriors are at odds with the Council. They’re threatening to send them for ten years to the galleys. They’re going to join us when you leave. Federigo will take charge of them at that time. Thank you for coming to the rescue. The next time you come, all your drinks are free.”

A loud shout could be heard as far away as Ferrara. They left, holding

onto each other, weaving their way down the road until they reached the harbour when Federigo’s friends left to go their homes.

“So you are the young man who is going to marry my niece,” he said to Niccolo, who didn’t know what to say and decided silence was the best answer. “They tell me you are very smart and can invent things.”

Niccolo smiled at him in the darkness. He led them to a ship tied up at the pier. Someone on deck saw them and alerted the Captain, who came down a rope ladder to the dock. Captain Andrea Foscari was a tall man and towered over them. He was clean-shaven and had light brown hair, brown eyes, and a cut lip from a fight with his sailors. His voice was strong and authoritative and used to command.

“So these are your two nephews who want to escape the Council of Venice. What have they done.”

Federigo looked at Piero, who stepped up. “We staged a play in which we made fun of the Doge and the Council. Everyone loved it, but they shut us down after two performances and want to send us the galleys.”

Niccolo looked at Piero and wondered how he could come up with a tale like this at a moment’s notice.

Really?” said Foscari. “My informants tell me you are both wanted for refusing the share a formula that would fire cannonballs beyond anyone else’s.”

“They’ll examine every ship docked here and ready to unfurl their sails. My ship will likely be on their list. Before we go further, I will need five gold florins to hide you away and drop you off at Ferrara. And should they discover you, I will not know how you boarded my ship. The five gold florins are payable now.”

Piero reached into his pocket and gave him six gold florins. “The extra is for your coming to our need and helping us escape to safety.”

Foscari bit one of the florins and smiled. “I have a feeling I will be glad to say that I know you. But now,” he said, looking at one of his seamen, “take this man downstairs, outfit him in sailor’s clothes, and make sure he has a patch for his right eye. I will look after the other one.”

Niccolo disappeared with the sailor a few minutes into the hold and the quarters where the seamen slept. He lit a candle and showed Niccolo a small cot. “That’s where you sleep. Get out of your clothes and if you have any old clothes, put them on now. He went to a nearby seaman, took his eye patch, and gave it to Niccolo. He fitted it over Niccolo’s right eye and darkened his face with dust from the floor. Niccolo looked around. In the light of the candle, he could see expensive furniture tied to the bulwarks, luxury beds, bales of clothes for men and women, boxes of dried fish and

crates containing iron and copper ingots and other minerals. The smell of pitched tar floated in the air.

“If you’re smart, you should get some sleep now. We leave at six in the morning. If you’re not awake by then, I will see that you are. Any questions?”

In the Captain’s quarters, Foscari poured a glass of wine for Piero. “You’re a sharp young fellow. You think on your feet, and I may need of you. For the moment, I want you to change your clothes and dress as my mate. If the authorities board us, I want you in a cabin next to mine. You will be introduced as my mate, should it be necessary.”

CHAPTER SIX

Six men were unfurling the sails while another seaman untied the ship from the pier and scampered up the rope ladder before the ship moved from the dock. Niccolo looked around and could see no sign of Piero. He was about to ask the Captain but was discouraged by one of the other seaman.

They were out in the harbour in a few minutes with the wind billowing the sails. They were nearing the entrance when a cannonball splashed the water in front of them. Foscari shouted for them to drop anchor as a small sailboat set out from the harbour and boarded them a few minutes later.

“I want you to go up the mast and stay there until they leave,” said the seaman, who helped him climb the rope ladder to the second mast.

Six soldiers climbed the rope ladder to the deck. “I want to see the Captain,” said the sergeant, a tall man with a crossbow slung over his shoulder. He had a thin, dark face and grey streaks in his hair and a voice that was accustomed to giving orders in a loud voice.

“We are looking for two men. Do you take on two men to book passage with you during your stay in the harbour?”

“Not that I am aware of.” Most of my crew is on deck, getting us ready to sail. You’re free to check if you wish.”

The sergeant sent three soldiers to check the crew and returned, shaking their heads.

“What about the crew working the masts,” volunteered one of the soldiers.

“You’re welcome to climb up and see them for yourself.”

The soldier made a face. “Is there a way they can come down?”

“I suppose so, but it will delay my passage even more while we have

the tide.”

The sergeant nodded. “Then show us around your ship, starting with the hold.”

Foscari led them down the stairway and into the hold. The soldiers checked every bale and piece of furniture and even the boxes of fish.

“You won’t find them in there, you numbskulls,” said the sergeant. He turned to Foscari. “What about your quarters?”

Foscari led them to the end of the ship and down another stairway. He unlocked the door and invited them inside. They could see at a glance that no one was there. There was a large window that looked at the sea, and a bottle of wine on the table, where he ate and chartered the course of the ship. A chandelier with two candles swung over the table. His unmade bed was on the left side of the room.

“Any other quarters?”

“Just the mate’s room.” They stood outside his door. “He’s taken a crazy spell, tried to kill me. It took four men to hold him down and tie and take him to his quarters. We haven’t let him out,” he said in a loud voice over the sounds above.”

“We’d still like to see inside.”

“Then do not hold me to account if one of your men gets killed in the process.”

The sergeant smiled. “We’ll take our chances.”

Foscari unlocked the door and stuck his head in. The sergeant pushed open the door all the way. Piero saw his chance and started shouting at the top of his lungs as he pushed them aside and raced by them up the stairway two steps at a time. The soldiers followed him and reached the deck in time to see him scream and jump overboard. They ran to the side and saw him swimming out to sea.

The sergeant was at their side a minute later. “Kill him before he escapes,” he shouted and stepped back at the soldiers, unslung their crossbows and aimed them at Piero, who turned to see them aim at him. He disappeared into the water. Piero decided to swim back under the keel and emerge on the other side. He emerged as one of the hands shouted to them. “He’s on this side.”

They rushed to see Piero disappear again. This time, he decided to swim out to sea, find a place with large boulders, and a place to hide. He turned back and saw them aiming at him. He dove deep and swam out to sea under the water. He could see the crossbow shafts enter the water ahead of him and out of sight. He went deeper in time to see other bolts float down around him.

“I don’t see him anymore, and he’s not come up for minutes. Maybe he’s drowned.”

Niccolo smiled from the mast as he remembered how Piero liked to fool him by staying underwater for almost five minutes at a time.

Piero surfaced to see one of the soldiers pointing at him and took a deep breath.

“Weigh anchor and head for him,” shouted the sergeant. The anchor was back aboard a few minutes later, and the ship was heading out to sea. Piero bobbed up, saw what was happening, and decided to swim back.

Foscari walked to two of his hands. “Leave a rope on your side of the ship for him to hold onto should he reappear again.”

The sergeant turned in time to see Foscari leave his men and walk back to them. “What was that about?”

“To warn them to keep watch on their side as well.”

The sergeant nodded. “He doesn’t give up easy.”

“Some crazy people have incredible strength. He broke the arm of one of the men who tried to lock him up. Who knows whether he’ll head out to sea, and we’ll never catch him if he does.”

Piero bobbed up to get air and saw them heading toward him. One of the soldiers near the bow saw him first and released his bolt before Piero saw him. The bolt entered his right shoulder. The pain was horrific, and it made him want to vomit. He had to swim now with one arm and decided to go deeper, where he could see the hull pass over him. He resurfaced to see a rope dangle over the side. The ship was moving away from him, and he used every bit of his strength to reach the rope. He wiped the water from his eyes and swam as fast as he could. The rope was only a few inches away from him now, and he knew he had to use his right arm.

The boat was slipping away again, and he used all his strength to grab the rope. One of the hands who had been watching him lifted the rope so that it landed closer to him. Piero grabbed it with both hands and pulled himself close to the ship so it could carry him along.

“I think he’s done for,’ said the sergeant. “The bolt that hit him must have disabled him. He hasn’t surfaced for 15 minutes. Good work,” he said to the soldier. “Our work is done here.” He turned to Foscari. “Turn your ship around and head back to our sailboat.”

Piero could see what was happening. He wrapped his hand in the rope and was about to pull the bolt from his shoulder when he looked up to see the deckhand shake his head. Fifteen minutes the ship dropped anchor, and he could hear shouts from above as the soldiers boarded their sailboat.

When they were gone, another deckhand and Foscari looked down

at him and told him to wind the rope around his wrist. They pulled him up slowly and moved him onto the deck. Foscari ordered them to weigh anchor, and the ship turned slowly to head out to sea. Niccolo, who saw it all, slid down the net to the deck.

“Take him to the mate’s cabin and have Marsilio draw that bolt out of his shoulder before it becomes infected.”

Niccolo followed them down to the mate’s quarters and helped them lift him to the bed. Marsilio, who had a gift for healing, had small hands and a face to match. His deep brown eyes saw everything. He unbuttoned Piero’s shirt and cut off the sleeve above the shoulder. He looked at Niccolo. “You may need to hold him down with all your strength.” Marsilio put his arm behind Piero’s back to help him take three swallows of grappa. He took out a small knife with a sharp blade from his belt and held it over the candle before bending down to examine it. One of the other deckhands held another candle to one side to light the area.

“This is going to hurt like hell,” said Marsilio. ‘So scream as loud as you want.” He looked at Niccolo. “Hold him down, and don’t let him go no matter what.”

“Will it take long?” said Piero.

“Not if you shut your eyes, grip the sides of your bed, and do not let go. Now close your eyes.” Marsilio took the blade, cut the flesh around the crossbow bolt and then, without warning, pulled it out in one quick jerk without warning.

Niccolo could feel Piero’s back arch and sink back as Marsilio heated a poker above two candles. When it was red hot, he seared the wound in two quick movements. He stood. “We are done. You will heal now. If it festers, splash some of the saltwater over it, and it will remove the festering. Saltwater is a miracle few people take advantage of.”

When the others left, Piero turned and looked at Niccolo. There were tears in his eyes. “It is good to have you at my side, my good friend. How did you escape these brutes?”

“They had me go up the rigging and unfurl the middle mast when they boarded us. None of them wanted to climb up and check who I was. But now, I want you to sleep the sleep of angels. You’ve been through a lot and need to regain your strength. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The evening meal was being served on a long table in the deckhands’ quarters when Marsilio opened the door. “How is your friend?”

“I was just about to wake him.”

“I bring tidings from the Captain. He invites you and your friend to dine with him.” Marsilio looked at Piero and rubbed his head lightly.

Piero opened his eyes. His body stiffened until he got his bearings. His right arm made him aware immediately of what had just gone through. He noticed the hole in his shirt and looked at Niccolo.

“I had to cut a hole to get the crossbow bolt out of your shoulder. It was necessary,” said Marsilio. “So, what shall I tell the Captain?”

Niccolo helped him sit up. “You can tell your good Captain I’ll be dining with him, even if a regiment of soldiers tries to stop me. “

“Then, wash and dress. I’ll wait for you both outside until you’re ready.”

The Adriatic was getting rough as they headed South to Ferrara and Niccolo took Piero’s left arm to steady him as they walked to the Captain’s quarters. Marsilio knocked and opened the door. Piero held onto his arm and seated him in front of the Captain.

“Please join us, Niccolo. You, too, Marsilio. The ship’s cook entered with a tureen of fish soup and set it in the middle of the table, almost slipping as the boat rolled with one large wave after another. The cook put his hand on Marsilio’s shoulder to right himself. The chandelier above them swayed uneasily. He left to return with baked fish, caught a few hours by one of the men and vegetables.

“You’re a remarkable man, Piero. How you escaped six soldiers and swim away from them was brilliant. You will be a force in this life and change the world before you die. Mark my words.”

“And you, Niccolo, how did you come to know Piero?”

“We grew up together. Piero’s house was next to mine.”

Foscari filled their glasses with wine and smiled at him. “I understand from Federigo that you have a great invention the Venetian Council would like to steal from you. Would it be impolite to ask what that invention is?”

Piero spoke first. “It’s about a warfare weapon. That’s all we can say at the moment.”

Foscari sat back and smiled, with great thoughts swirling in his head. When they finished dessert, he stood. “I fear the sea is getting worse, and perhaps we might be well advised to see our beds.”

Niccolo helped Piero to his quarters, losing their balance as one wave after another crashed against the boat. The deckhands had already gone to bed, leaving two men above at the wheel. It had started to rain, and lightning streaked the sky. Later, they would remember it forever.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Venice was now far behind them as Piero scanned the horizon. Land had disappeared, and he suddenly longed to see St. Mark’s Square and the pigeons swirling around him. Foscari joined him and handed him his telescope. And pointed to the expanse behind them. “It’s a pirate, sure as God’s in His Heaven. And he’s gaining on us.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Take another look at it. You don’t see a flag on it. A sure sign it’s a pirate. If you look at our topmast, you’ll see the flag of d’Este flapping in the breeze. They’ll reach us by noon at the rate they’re sailing. Then there’ll be hell to pay.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The way its brow breaks the sea.’

Piero passed the telescope back to him. “Do you have a cannon on board?”

Foscari cocked his head. “What do you have in mind?”

“In Venice, I manned the harbour cannons, and Niccolo may have something to keep them at bay.”

“We have one on the other side near the prow. It’s not big if that’s what you’re wondering.”

They walked up the deck. “We’re heading windward, and it should give us a small advantage.” A few minutes later, Piero looked into the cannon and measured its diameter. It was not large, but it would have to do. They could load it will small cannonballs and shoot down their sails.

“It’ll do. Now we must see Niccolo. Foscari sent one of the seamen up the ladder to bring him down. Seven minutes later, Niccolo landed beside them. “I see a ship behind us. I hear it might be a pirate.”

“We need you to make another batch of your stuff for us. There’s a

small cannon near the prow.”

“I’m not sure,” said Niccolo. “We’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“You’ll be in worse trouble if you don’t. I have a feeling that the soldiers knew you were on my ship. I was the only ship they boarded to look for you. They went straight to our ship as though they knew you two were aboard. And between us, I have a large load of gold hidden in a crate’s false bottom containing the copper ingots. I also feel that this person told the pirate ship you were aboard our ship and counts on a handsome reward for taking you back to Venice.

“But what they’re really after is the gold in my hold. Only one person knows about the gold, and I know who it is.” He paused. “That person will go on midnight watch tonight, lose his way in the dark, and fall overboard. “

Niccolo could see him grind his teeth, and a shiver went up to his back.

“I reward loyalty and have no time for disloyalty. That goes with you two and your secret. As long as you’re under my care, I will see that no harm will come to you.”

Niccolo nodded, and he and Piero went down the stairway and into the hold. Niccolo opened all the crates and found most of the minerals he needed but no chemicals. He cut off bits of the minerals he wanted and put them in his basket.

“We need some chemicals,” he said to Foscari when they returned to the deck.

“You may find some of them in our kitchen. Our cook likes a lot of spices and other things to make our meals. Check with him.”

The kitchen was near the Captain’s cabin, and they entered to find the cook rolling out spaghetti with an oversized rolling pin. He didn’t look up when they entered until he sprinkled some flour over the dough for the second time.

“Lunch is not ready yet,” said the cook, a short man with a protruding stomach. He was shaved, and his hair was cut short. He was making the spaghetti dough on a flat board over a large flour barrel. Containers of spices and other ingredients lined a board at eye level. Two candles sat on another board on his right.

“We need some ingredients for one of my experiments, and Captain Foscari told us you might have some. Do you mind if we glance at your board and see if any of them are there?” said Niccolo.

The cook stood back to let Niccolo glance through the lineup. He took down four containers and pouring them into the metal container in his basket. They saluted the cook and made their way to the stairway, where

Piero turned: “What’s for lunch?”

“Spaghetti with a spicy sauce that will burn your mouth off,” he shouted back with a loud laugh.

Piero laughed. “Can’t wait for noon.”

“Was the cook any help?” said Foscari, eying Niccolo’s basket.

“We need a brazier to heat Niccolo’s mixture,” said Piero.

“There’s one in my cabin. He can mix his concoction there. Just make sure the fire is out before you leave. Better still, have him bring the brazier on the deck. He can work his magic here.

Piero returned with the brazier a few minutes later and had it burning minutes later. Niccolo waited until the coals were red and placed his metal container over the heat, stirring it a few times before it was ready.

“I’m not sure it will work because I was missing a couple of chemicals, but we’ll know in a few minutes. Piero looked back at the pirate ship that was still some distance from them before placing the container inside the canon. He stood back while Piero added several small cannonballs down the mouth of the cannon.

“If you’re thinking of shooting the pirate ship, it’s too far away,” said Foscari.

Piero then aimed the cannon at the pirate ship’s masts and told him to stand well back as Niccolo sifted some gunpowder into the boiling liquid and ran back.

Piero pushed Foscari to the other side. “Grab hold of something solid.” The words were barely out of his mouth when the explosion shooked the boat. The seamen ran to the deck, thinking that a massive cannonball had hit them. The cook stuck his head up the stairway to see what had happened.

It knocked Foscari to the floor of the deck. Two of the hands helped him to his feet. “What did I just witness?”

“One of Niccolo’s inventions.”

Piero led him to the other side. The cannonballs had ripped the masts in pieces and broke one of the poles. “That will slow them down a bit.”

“No wonder the Venetians wanted him, dead or alive,” said Foscari, looking through his telescope, seeing the crew taking down the torn masts and spreading them out on their deck.

At nightfall, Foscari could barely see them in his telescope. The wind had died down, and they were barely moving. He paced the deck until sunset and ordered all lanterns extinguished.

In the morning, Captain Foscari gathered the men and told them that one of their crew was missing and whether anyone knew what had hap-

pened to him. They shook their heads. They had lost a lot of sailing time, and the disappearance of the seaman spooked them.

“We are being pursued by a pirate ship. I fear they may be upon us before the morning is out. I want everyone, especially those in the masts, to keep a close watch and shout if you spot it.”

Foscari wondered if Niccolo can work the same magic on the pirate ship again if they reach us. If it hadn’t been for being becalmed, they would be in a port now. He spotted openings for oars on the pirate ship’s sides and knew they would put them to good use overtake them.

He found them talking to the cook. Piero looked up to see Foscari duck as he entered the galley. “I need to talk to you and Niccolo. Can you repeat yesterday’s performance if called upon?”

They followed him into the cabin. “The pirate ship has rowed all night to catch us unawares. If they succeed in reaching us, I fear they’ll board us for sure, and our deck will run with blood. What can you do to prevent this?”

He poured them a glass of wine as he was talking and offered it to them.

“A couple of things that come to mind. First, Be sure to equip your staff with swords. Then, move your cannon to the middle of your ship. Second, once they grabble onto your ship, I will load the cannon full of nails, anything sharp. I’d also dip into your shipment of iron ingots. Break up four or five into small pieces with sharp edges once we see them line up at the edge of their ship. I will fire the cannon. That will kill or wound a lot of them. That will give me time to reload the cannon and fire another volley should they try again. We’ll keep doing this until they wave a white flag. Our canon shots will be aimed at their chests and faces.”

Foscari was rubbing his hands. “I hadn’t realized just how powerful this cannon of yours is.”

Four of the deckhands went below an hour later and brought up a large box of nails and a couple of iron ingots, which they began to break into many small pieces. Niccolo showed them to Foscari who had three deckhands move the cannon to the middle of the ship and locked it in place before returning to Foscari’s cabin for lunch. They no sooner sat down when there was a rap on the door.

“We’ve spotted the sail. It’s still quite away from us,” said one of the deckhands, eyeing the half-bottle of wine on the table. They followed him out. Foscari used his telescope to check on the progress of the pirate ship and passed it to Piero.

“They’ll be rowing hard now to close the gap. You had better get that

cannon of yours ready for action,” said Foscari, who left with four deckhands downstairs to unlock the cabinet where the swords were stored. “Give each man and sword and tell them to get ready for a fight of their lives,” added Foscari, who followed them upstairs. Niccolo had lit the brazier and was heating his chemicals and metals.

The pirate ship was opposite them a half-hour later. They had withdrawn their oars and were getting ready to grapple their ship to Foscari’s. Niccolo had poured a bit of his mixture in five bottles and gave them to five hands along with some gunpowder and to climb up into the masts. “When you see them get ready to board us, throw the bottles – first one and then after a couple of minutes another one down at them until all five bottles have been used and then come down on the deck and join in the fighting if there is any.”

He then poured his mixture into a container, placed it in the cannon, and waited until he saw them getting ready to board them. The first bottle hit the deck and set it on fire. In the melee, he set off his cannon. It struck at least 50 of the men, who were either killed or groaning on deck. The pirate Captain, wearing an officer’s cap and yelling at his men to get ready for another attempt to board them, brandished his sword and stood behind them. Another bottle exploded near him, setting his uniform on fire. He raised his swords, and Niccolo set off the cannon again. The only person standing was the Captain, who threw down his sword.

Foscari boarded the ship with eight deckhands and put the pirate Captain in chains. He then waved to Piero and Niccolo to join him as he examined the ship. They went into the hold to find a few men kneeling at their cannons. “Put them in chains with the Captain and bring them to our ship. Four of you will remain on the pirate ship and tie it to our aft. Throw off all the dead bodies and bring the ones still alive to our ship.”

A big shout followed Foascai, Piero and Niccolo to the pirate Captain’s quarters, where they found large casks of French wine and a large box of gold jewellery and gold coins along with bolts of cloth, some fine silk from China.

“I’d like you to pack all this up in a container and nail it shut,” Fosari said to Piero. “When you’re done, I’ll send a couple of men to help you bring the container and wine casks to my cabin.”

Foscari left to take the pirate Captain to his ship and had him chained to the anchor on deck, surprised to learn that he had come from Sicily and was heading back and hoped to capture Piero and Niccolo and the gold in Foscari’s hold.

“What do you plan to do with my men and me?”

“That depends. But before we talk about that, I need to know your name.”

“Paolo Malatesta. But Paolo will do.” He looked at his sleeves and the blood from the wounds suffered from Niccolo’s blast. His multi-coloured breeches were made from thick, finely woven cloth and his hat that sat askew on his head, a prize from a British warship they had captured. He had a round face, dark eyes and a dark brown complexion. Three of his upper teeth were missing, and he kept using his tongue to wet his lips. “I could do for some wine if you have any.”

Foscari nodded to Piero, who left to get a bottle of wine in Foscari’s cabin. “You’re very hospitable,” he said to Foscari when Piero returned with the wine. Foscari poured him a large glass and a smaller glass for himself. Malatesta raised his glass. “To better times.” He swallowed almost half a glass in one mouthful and smiled at Foscari. “What do you plan to do with me?”

“I haven’t decided. What do you suggest?”

“I have a fortune in gold, and I’m willing to share half of it with you if you help me find the place where I have hidden it.”

“I know I shouldn’t, but for some reason, I trust you. Tell you what. When I reach Farrara, I’ll take you there.”

“What about my ship?”

“It’s become a prize ship in which the crew will participate. Let me suggest this. I will take you to get your gold, and we will come back, and you can buy it from the crew.”

Malatesta offered his hand. Foscari shook it and unlocked his chains. “We’ll find suitable accommodation for you so that you can make the rest of your journey comfortably.”

Later, when they went to sleep, Piero whispered to Niccolo: “I think Foscari has struck some kind of deal with the pirate Captain. He’s taken the chains off him and found a place for him to sleep in comfort.”

Malatesta smiled as he snuffed out the candle and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Foscari watched Malatesta move around the ship, talk to his men, slap them on the shoulders, shake their hands, and whisper to them. He followed Malatesta into the hold to see him sit with his men and chat. Malatesta caught his glance and raised his arm in greeting.

“Just checking up on my men, making sure they’re well,” he said as they returned to the deck. “Is there any way you can remove their chains? They can’t go anywhere and have no weapons. They can’t hurt anyone.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Foscari. “In any event, we should reach the coastline of Ferrara before nightfall.”

At lunch with Piero and Niccolo in his cabin, Foscari leaned across the table. “Have either of you been close enough to hear what Malatesta is whispering to his men?”

Piero shook his head. “But I will make a point to get closer. I have to tell you I don’t trust him. I think if he had his way, he would take over your ship and head out for Sicilia.”

In the afternoon, one of the deckhands approached Foscari. “You should know what Malatesta said to a few of us after lunch.”

Foscari waited. “Go on.”

“He hinted that if we could free his men, he would make us all rich men.”

“How did the others respond?”

“We just walked away.” Then, after a pause. “He saw me approach you and left to talk to his men.”

“Tell the others to be ready if he tries something, and under no circumstances will his men be freed. Make sure the others know that. We don’t want our prize money to disappear into thin air.”

Foscari watched Piero and Niccolo take turns edging close enough to

Malatesta to catch what he was saying to his men. The breeze picked up, and the ship was moving faster now. The masts were filled with air, and he could feel the spray from where he was standing. He looked at Malatesta and caught him looking at the cannon and chatting up Niccolo. Malatesta held on to the cap he took from a British officer and peered ahead.

“He’s telling his men to get ready and take over the ship at his signal. He’s also very curious about your cannon,” said Niccolo.

Later in the afternoon, Malatesta approached him. “My men are suffering in your chains. Is there no way you can free them before we reach Ferrara? I could make it worth your while?”

Foscari nodded to one of his men, who had the chains in his hands. “We’re making better time than we expected, Captain. It means that you must be put back in chains. I would be called to account if someone sees you are not chained. They will be removed once we pass the port.”

He had his crew member holding the chains to put them around his hands and feet. “He will take you to your cabin.” Foscari walked away and left him staring at Foscari’s deckhand, who could hear him grit his teeth. He knew then there would be no escape and that he would be handed over to the authorities in Ferrara.

Foscari gathered all deckhands around him. “There was an attempt by the pirate Captain to take over our ship and sail away with his ship and ours in tow. That has been thwarted. None of you should approach him unless I am present. This way, we can count on sharing the prize money his ship will bring us.”

There was a loud shout and clapping as they returned to mopping up the deck and getting ready. Ferrara was only a couple of hours away, and they started singing. The sea was calm, and the sun danced on the waves. The first seagull suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It was a good omen, and they raised their hands in laughter.

Giulio tried breaking his chains for the 100th time. He was a giant, almost seven-feet tall with large muscles, who could slice a man’s head off with one swing of his sword. His hair was a dark brown and hung in strings over his face. He grunted again.

“Give up, Giulio. You’ll never break them that way,” said Galeazzo, who joined Captain Malatesta in Sicilia. He looked at Malatesta, who tried to smile.

“You need something you can rub the chain against and wear it down. That’s when you ‘ll be able to break it.”

One of the deckhands appeared with lunch. He poured oatmeal into each of their cups and waited until each prisoner had finished eating. The deckhand was directly behind Giulio. Malatesta looked at him and kept raising his hands until Guilo understood. It took a few tries, but he was able to stand after a minute or two. Giulio walked one foot ahead at a time, bending to hold the chain from scraping the floor until he was behind the deckhand. Giulio raised his arms and slid them down the deckhand’s head to his neck, where Giulio tightened his grip.

“Grab his keys,” said Malatesta, “and unlock Giulio and the rest of his. The deckhand lay gasping for air. Oatmeal from other cups was spattered over his face and shirt. Giulio kicked the deckhand’s head, and he stopped breathing.

“Now, start yelling as loud as you can. We want one of two of the other deckhands to come down to see what was happening. Giulio and I will hide behind the stairway wall and disarm them as they pass. The rest of you, knock them silly.”

The deckhands had come down with swords, which Malatesta and Giulio grabbed and started up the stairway. “The rest of you, follow behind us. They won’t be ready for us. As soon as you come out, run for the first man you see and knock them to the floor.”

Malatesta and Giulio opened the stairway door and cut down the first two deckhands in their path. The other prisoners flooded the deck behind them, knocking down the first deckhand in their way. The other deckhands had unsheathed and were duelling Malatesta and Giulio. They were slowly backed into a corner and about to cut everyone down when Malatesta noticed that Foscari was missing.

That’s when he heard Foscari’s voice. He turned to see Foscari holding a crossbow aimed at his chest from the wheel deck.

“You may get me, but you will be cut to pieces.”

“If you look up at the masts, you’ll see four others pointing their crossbows at your giant and other hands. If you do not want to die, you will throw down your weapons and lie face down on the floor.”

“I have a proposition you might like to hear,” Malatesta said, trying to smile. “You can’t really blame us for trying to escape.”

“You lie down first and tell the others also to get rid of their swords and lie down.”

Malatesta threw his sword ahead and lay face down flat on the deck. The others followed him. Foscari’s crew rose and collected the swords.

“Now, chain their hands behind their backs and let them stay there until we reach port.”

Piero and Niccolo leaned against the opposite wall, armed with loaded crossbows. The seagulls were swirling above their heads, and they looked up and smiled. It was hard not to smile. One or two sat on Malatesta’s head and the seaman behind him.

“I don’t like surprises,” said Foscari, who pointed ahead. “We’ll land in a few minutes. Time in to furl in the masts.”

The ship turned right. “Get ready to tie up and drop anchor.” Then, turning to Piero: “go aft and get the crew there to unhook from us from the prize ship and tie up as our own.”

There was a bump as their ship hit the dock. Four of the crew jumped over to the pier and tied their boat in four places. They could hear the crew tie up the prize ship and walk over to see the others.

Marsilio looked at the deck. “I gather you had problems getting here.”

Foscari nodded. “You’re just the man we need to help them to their feet and get them off the boat.” He pointed to ten others. I want them to stand away from them and aim your crossbows at one of them that tries to run away.”

A half-hour later, Foscari had each of the legs chained together and led them to the armoury just beyond the harbourmaster’s building. Foscari ordered them to halt in front of the armoury, built on the side of a hill. He climbed the ten steps to the front door and entered.

He was stopped by a soldier dressed in a gleaming breastplate. “Whom do you wish to see and the reason why?”

“My name is Andrea Foscari. I am Captain of a ship that has just docked in the harbour.”

“You need to see the harbourmaster in the next building.”

“I know that. But this concerns you. My ship was attacked by a pirate vessel, which tried unsuccessfully to board my ship. We were able to beat them off. I have the Captain of the pirate ship and the remainder of his men in chains outside. Whom do we see about locking them up?”

“Captain of the guard. I’ll take you to him directly. But first, I’d like to see them myself.” He returned a minute later and led him inside the armoury to see Captain Prospero Rosso, a tall man dressed in full armour. His large office contained a desk, three chairs, and a small sofa in front of the narrow window. The walls were bare stone and were hung with paintings of previous princes of the d’Este House and its flag on the back wall.

Foscari didn’t wait for the guard to introduce him. My name is Andrea Foscari. I am the Captain of a merchant vessel that was attacked by a pirate ship. We were able to stop them from boarding us and have the Captain and what’s left of his crew in chains waiting outside. Where should they

be incarcerated?”

Rosso was tall, with blond hair and a large face. His eyes were blue, and he took everything in a glance. He had a commanding presence, and it was immediately apparent to Foscari was Rosso was the Captain.

“Where are they now?” said Rosso in a deep voice.

“Outside.”

Rosso nodded to the guard. “Have them brought in and put them in individual cells until we decide what to do with them.”

“A word of advice, Captain Rosso. They’re a shifty lot, always looking for a way to escape. Beware of their Captain, who will promise you the moon if you will let him and his men free. Don’t put any trust in him or what he promises.”

Rosso walked with him to the front door in time to see Malatesta and his men shuffle by them. He smiled as they headed for the cells. “They won’t escape my cells. You can bank on that.”

The armoury’s walls had no windows and were decorated by heraldic shields led by the House of d’Este. It felt cold and damp, and if you happened to be a prisoner, you knew intuitively you would probably die there.”

“One more thing. We also captured the pirate ship, which is docked behind mine. I assume I must see the harbourmaster about what you will offer for a prize ship.?”

Rosso nodded. He paused with Foscari at the entrance. “Should you ever give up the sea, there’s always a place for you here. You’re quite a man.”

Foscari nodded and went down the stairs slowly, where Piero, Niccolo and his deckhands waited for him. “Where to next?” said Piero.”

“To the harbourmaster’s building. We passed it on the way here. We need to see him about our prize ship and what they’re willing to pay for it.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence and could see both ships from the steps of the building. Foscari pointed Piero, Niccolo, and one of the deckhands to walk inside and see the harbormaster together.

Cristoforo Loredan saw them coming from his office window and guessed they had come from the ship now docked at the pier. He rose and opened the door before they reached him. Cristoforo had a friendly way about him. He had a fat round face and hazel eyes that twinkled when he talked with his hands. His eyebrows were as white as his white goatee, and his handshake was warm.

“My name is Andrea Foscari, Captain of the ship that docked at your port a few minutes ago. We bring a load of iron and copper ingots, furni-

ture and some clothing for Ferrara. We sailed from Venice.”

“I gather you are not here to talk about furniture and iron ingots.” Cristoforo nodded and suggested they talk in the hall outside his office, where there were chairs. They all found a chair and sat down immediately.

“My ship was attacked a couple of days ago by a pirate ship. They tried to board us, but we were able to stop them. I just unloaded them at the armoury. In the process, we were able to save their ship and tow it here. Where do we see about getting money for a prize ship?”

“Your best approach is to go to Ferrara and seek an audience with the Prince. I’m sure he will be interested in what you have to say.”

They left a few minutes later and headed back to town for a night of wine and song. Niccolo and Piero volunteered to stay behind, along with ten of the others, to guard the ships.

“Your turn will come when we reach Ferrara,” said Foscari.

The deckhands were mumbling among themselves as they walked back to the ship and lit lanterns on the deck to ward off anyone who might try to sneak aboard. Piero led them singing and opened a bottle of Foscari’s wine from his cabin.

The crew from the pirate ship also lit lanterns and joined them in singing. Shortly after nine o’clock, Piero spotted a group of men approaching them. He pointed to one of the men. “Run as fast as you can and tell the Captain we have unfriendly visitors heading for the ship.”

The leader of the group stopped at the side of the ship. “Permission to come aboard, sir.”

“Not granted. Come back in the morning,” Piero shouted in his loudest voice.

“We’ll see about that,” said the group leader and started climbing over the ship’s side. Piero pushed him off. The man fell on the pier as three of the others climbed aboard at the same time. The other deckhands had cocked their crossbows and were aiming it at them.

“Unless you leave this boat now, you will find a crossbow bolt in your chest.

They stood frozen as their leader climbed aboard. “They’re bluffing.”

Piero was about to raise his hand for the deckhands to shoot them when he looked to the left when he saw Foscari and the others running toward them. The other strangers saw them coming and headed into the darkness. Foscari knocked the leader of the group on the head with his club. The leader fell to the ground. “Bind up the others, and we’ll march them off to the armoury in the morning before we leave.”

CHAPTER NINE

Foscari picked up his telescope and looked ahead from the upper deck. Everything looked smooth. As they sailed up the Po River to Ferrara, the river was like glass. The sky was a wonderful light blue and cloudless. The word had somehow gone ahead that we were coming and bringing a pirate ship with them. The pier was thronged with people by the time they docked both ships.

An emissary from the Prince shook Foscari’s hand as he walked on the pier. “The Prince bids you welcome, Captain, and would be pleased if you would join him for lunch.”

“The harbourmaster suggested we see the Prince about the pirate ship we captured.”

“The Prince has expressed great interest in your exploits and about two special members of your crew,” said the emissary, bowing as he led the way off the pier. His breeches were the colour of the House of d’Este, and his doublet, crimson and black, reached below his knees. He wore a grey wig, and a looking glass hung from his shoulder. The streets were clogged with people as they passed by in sedan chairs on their way to the palace.

When they reached the palace, the emissary jumped out and opened the door for Foscari. Two large pillars guarded the entrance to the palace. They walked up three steps, and the door was opened for them by one of the palace’s servants. The receiving room was two-storeys high with huge windows near the top that let in the sunlight.

Flags from d’Este, Venice, Genoa, Lombardy and the Papal Estates hung lifeless from the opposite wall.

Nicollo II was called the lame and walked towards them with a limp, using a gold-headed cane, “So this is the famous Captain Foscari who out-

smarted, outfought a pirate ship and brought the pirates to Ferrara for sentencing. Pirates are a blot on Ferarra and the Adriatic, and we owe great credit to you and your crew. I also understand you were also able to capture the pirate vessel as a prize ship. We are interested in outfitting it to seek out other pirate vessels and bring their captains and men to justice. How much do you want for your pirate vessel?”

“That is not for me to say, Your Excellency. I would prefer you set a price, and my men and I will abide by the amount you set.”

Nicollo II, Lord of Ferrara and Modena, wore a black hat trimmed at the top with a gold braid. He had a round, strong face, long black hair, dark eyes and eyebrows. He hobbled back to his dias and sat down. Dark red tapestry hung from the walls in a niche where the dias had been set. He polished the head of his cane with his palm and looked at one of his advisers, who approached him and bent to hear Nicollo whisper in his ear. The adviser whispered back and stood back.

“What would 3,000 gold florins sound to you and your men?”

“You are more than generous, Your Excellency. My crew and I will remember your generosity forever.” Foscari bent his head and backed away.

“Not so fast, Master Foscari. They have crippled Ferrara for long enough. We want you and your crew to man our new ship and seek out pirates in our seas. What do you say, Admiral?”

“Your Excellency.” Foscari bowed ever deeper.

“It comes with an annual stipend and a reward for every pirate ship you and your crew bring back to us. You’re going to help Ferrara build us into a naval power. Genoa and Venice have enjoyed that cognomen long enough.”

Foscari bowed again and backed away.

“I understand you have brought with you two interesting men,” said one of the Prince’s advisers, who caught him by his sleeve. “His Excellency would like you to introduce them to him. Word of their great powers came to our ears before you left Venice.” ***

“We’ll all walk away from this adventure 200 gold florins richer. What do you say? And that’s just the beginning. They want to turn the pirate ship over to us and become members of His Excellency’s Navy with an annual stipend and a reward for every pirate ship we bring back with us.”

They didn’t wait for formalities but crowded around him, patting his back and shouting.

“Tonight, I will make arrangements with the Armoury to guard our

ship while you all join me at the tavern for a night of drinking and wenching.”

Another shout, only this time deafening. “Any questions?” said Foscari.

“When do we see the florins?” said a voice near the back.

“Before the week is out.” He turned to Piero and Niccolo. “It appears that word of you two reached the ears of the Prince before we left Venice. He would like me to bring you both to meet with him.”

Piero’s eyes were smiling as he jabbed Niccolo with his elbow. “When?”

“We can go now if you wish but clean yourselves up before we go.”

They were ready ten minutes later and headed out. Foscari stopped a passing carriage to take them up the hill to the palace. “The Prince has made me an admiral, and I suspect there are other honours in store for you two. But let’s hear what he has in mind.”

The emissary who had met Foscari before had seen their carriage approaching and was at the door to greet them. “You certainly don’t waste much time, Admiral. How did your men take the Prince’s offer?

“They shouted their heads off and are with us to a man and can’t wait to get started. But let me introduce my two friends, Piero Vasari, a captain of a battery of cannons on Venice’s harbourfront, and his friend, Niccolo Billini, his boyfriend, the person everyone is talking about.”

He led them into the audience chamber again. Piero kept pausing to view the display of flags that fluttered in their passing. The Prince was standing with some of his advisers, bent over a table studying a large map and didn’t hear them approach. One of the advisers looked up, followed by the Prince, who nodded to his emissary to approach.

“Your Excellency, allow me to introduce Niccolo Billini, the man of the hour, and his good friend, Piero Vasari, an artillery captain.”

“You have set all Italia aflame with your great discovery, Niccolo. I see we both have the same names. You will bring great luck to Ferrara and us. Let me shake your hand and welcome you to Ferrara. We understand you left Venice because your genius was not recognized, and when you turned them down, they sought to murder you both so that no one else would get your formula. In Ferrara, you are free to go where you please. Our town is open to you in every way.”

Niccolo wasn’t sure what to say and just bowed his head.

“Would you be interested in what Niccolo has to offer?” said Piero.

“And you are his great friend and artillery officer, I understand. Then let me suggest 4,000 gold florins. In exchange, we would like you to be a captain of our cannon batteries and exclusive use of Niccolo’s formula at

all the Admiral’s ships and our shore and town batteries.”

“So that we understand each other, Your Excellency, Niccolo is uneasy about making his formula available to you or anyone else.”

“We deal with artists all the time to make Ferrara the art city of Italia. I understand his mind. His formula is not required.”

The Prince’s emissary led them out, stopping at the entrance. “The Prince has asked me to inform you that you both are now captains of his special guard, and in addition to the 4,000 gold florins, you both will receive a monthly retainer. Our Prince is a great man who wants to do great things. He is concerned about our neighbours who may think he will yield them property. While his instincts are good, he has a dark side that emerges when neighbouring states misjudge him. At the moment, he is concerned about Florence and Genoa, who may mistake his kindness for weakness.”

He helped them board one of the Prince’s carriages and added: ‘When do you think you can both go to inspect our borders with Florence and Genoa?”

“I’d like them to stay with me for a few days and prepare the pirate ship for duty,” said Foscari. “While we have you, what happens to my old ship that tied up at the pier?”

“Plenty of merchants would be interested, especially if they know you’re the Prince’s Admiral. I know some of them and could ask them if they might be interested. I’ll do that when I drop off the money for the prize ship in the morning.”

“Don’t pinch me. I don’t want to wake up,” said Foscari as their carriage headed back to the dock. “You two are a good charm for me. I will miss you both.”

They passed the harbourmaster’s building and waved to the harbourmaster as he was leaving for the day. The streets were also filled with people out shopping who waved to them as they passed. Soldiers were posted at both their ships to prevent people from boarding and seeing what a real pirate ship looked like. The soldiers let two or three couples go aboard and be escorted around the ship by another soldier. They waved to Foscari, who boarded his boat and was immediately circled by the crew.

“Good news. We should have our money from the Prince tomorrow morning. So tonight, it’s all on me. So wash up and look your best. We’ll be leaving in an hour.”

All the deckhands stood at attention as Foscari emerged from his cabin, dressed in his best finery, with Piero and Niccolo. He led them down their makeshift boardwalk to the pier and marched them toward the tavern. Seven or eight young women were waiting outside to escort them in-

side. Each grabbed one of the deckhands and placed them at a special long table the tavern had set up for them.

The tavern was lit up with large fat candles at each place setting. Some of the deckhands tried to draw the women down but without success. “Later,” they kept saying as they left to escort someone else inside.

The tavern owner, a short, stocky man with a protruding stomach kept in place by a large white apron, had a wide smile on his large face. His bright dark eyes danced with his smile, and his thick dark mustache twitched every time he laughed.

“Welcome to you all,” he said, planking down two large pitchers of beer. “That’s just to whet your appetite.”

Piero looked around. They were the only ones in the tavern. The windows were shuttered, and the dark-stained floor danced with the flickering candles carried on the trays of the young women – eight large platters of Spaghetti Bolognaise with bottles of olive oil and trays of freshly baked bread. They dug into the spaghetti, twirling it on their forks, as one of the young women picked up a violin and started playing ribald songs while three of the other servers sang them, disappearing behind a large screen painted with a scene of Ferrara’s pier to emerge with large pitchers of Ferrara wine. There was a light behind the screen where they could see two young women undressing and changing costumes. The smell of chicken and beef drifted from behind the screen.

When the meal finally ended, each of the young women grabbed one of the deckhands and had them doing a gig with them to the music of the violin player. When the music was over, they grabbed eight other deckhands and had them swirling around until they all got dizzy and fell on the floor. This went on until they tried to drag Foscari and Piero to the floor. “My friend would like you to teach him how to dance,” said Piero, pointing to Niccolo, who had to be dragged from his seat. But he gave in finally and let the server lead him to the floor. They were the only ones dancing, and everyone was clapping in rhythm as she swirled him around the floor. At one point, Niccolo fell to the floor, and she had to help him up as the music started up again. The other servers invited six deckhands to dance along with Niccolo. When it ended, some of the deckhands tried to kiss them without success. They all gathered around Niccolo and kissed him on the cheek and forehead before taking him to his seat.

“I see it pays to be bashful,” said Foscari, slapping him on the back. “It’s also time for me to leave. I have much to do to get my ship ready for sale.” He stood. “Signore, I wish I could stay the rest of the night with you but duty calls. I expect to hear all your stories when we gather to get paid

in the morning. And please do not wreck up the place.”

There was a loud whoop and shout, and everyone slapped their fists on the table, making the glasses tremble. Piero and Niccolo followed him out. They were walking slowly back to the ship, with Foscari scanning the sky. “It will be dark soon, and time to light the lanterns on both ships.”

A merchant met them at Foscari’s ship, dressed in a red velvet doublet. “Captain Foscari, I have been advised by a friend that you are offering your boat for sale. I am interested in buying it.”

“That is true. And your name, Signore?”

“Sforza. Giuseppe Sforza.”

“I was planning to sell it for 3,000 gold florins. It’s a large hulk, as you can see, and can carry a lot of cargo. But I want to see it in good hands. If you promise to use it as though it were your son or daughter, 2,500 gold florins will seal the deal.”

“Sforza extended his hand. “I will have the money for you in the morning.”

“I’ll have my crew clean it up and show you around tomorrow afternoon.”

“Will any of them be willing to sign on?”

“That’s up to them. Ask them when you join us in the morning.”

CHAPTER TEN

Two soldiers stood outside the Houe of d’Este’s bank. “Who are you, and what is your business here?” said the older soldier, who moved to block the entrance. The bank was built of concrete with a veined marble front exterior. There were no windows. Just a narrow grilled iron door that blocked the front door.

“We have been retained by the Prince as members of his household. Signore Contarini is expecting us,” said Piero.

“Your names?”

My name is Piero Vasari, and my associate is Niccolo Billini.” Niccolo tried to smile, but a warning look from Piero made him look away from the guard.

The soldier stepped aside while the other soldier opened the door for them. They were immediately faced by four more soldiers who asked their names and the nature of their business.

“Wait here,” said the older soldier, who left to alert Contarini they had arrived. Contarini tugged at his doublet as he emerged from his office and approached them with a brown folder in his left hand. He had bushy white eyebrows, silver-grey hair and tired, faded blue eyes. He spoke with a Venetian accent. The front of his black doublet was decorated with the scarlet emblem of the House of d’Este. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he kept repeating as he shook their hands. Piero found himself looking down at him.

“Sorry for putting you through our security system. A group of bandits from one of the ships tried to rob us a few months ago. But they couldn’t get past our sentries, one of whom died in keeping the bank safe. Two other soldiers are standing just around the corner in the event of another attempt by another group. I mention this to assure you that your money

will always be safe here.”

“We came to see if the Prince has deposited our money.”

“Yes. Which of you is Signore Vasari?”

Piero nodded. “And my friend is Niccolo Billini.”

“Yes, 2,000 gold florins has already been deposited to each of your accounts. I believe that is correct.”

Piero nodded as Contarini opened his folder and offered each of them a receipt. Contarini escorted them to the door and shook their hands. “Our doors are always open to you both.”

They strolled down to Foscari’s ship and climbed aboard. Foscari saw them enter and strolled over to them with his arm around a tall man dressed in a black doublet and black breeches, who doffed his hat when he was introduced to Piero and Niccolo. “The whole of Ferrara knows of your exploits as our great defenders.”

“Signore Sforza has just bought my ship. We are showing him around. If you have time, join us and perhaps you can talk to him about Niccolo’s incredible discovery.” They followed them downstairs to the hold, the captain’s quarters, and the galley, where the cook was making lunch.

Then upstairs to the upper deck and had Sforza get the wheel’s feel and how to turn leeward and starboard. From there, they walked down the entire deck to the bow and learned how to use the netting to climb up to the masts.

“Before you buy the ship, why not take her out into the river, turn it and bring it back to port. A couple of our deckhands will help you.” They stood around him as he edged the boat into the river and made a slow turn back to the dock.

Foscari assembled all his crew. “My ship has a new owner. He is standing beside me. His name is Giuseppe Sforza.”

Sforza did not have a commanding voice and felt slightly nervous looking down at the faces staring at him. “I’m not used to talking to a crowd,” he began, “but I’d like to make an offer to any of you who might like to join my crew and sail her up and down Italia.”

Two members raised their hands. “I don’t really fancy fighting pirates,” said the oldest deckhand. “That’s providing I still get what Captain Foscari paid me.” The other was a young deckhand who had just completed his first voyage.

“I have not yet appointed a captain to recruit a crew,” said Sforza, and I will let you know when that happens.”

“I also have an announcement to make,” said Foscari in a loud voice. “Your share of the prize money awaits you in the bank. I will take you there

and help each of you create an account. We will leave when the new owner is done checking out his new ship.”

“I’ll also join you,” said Sforza. “We’ll complete our transaction there while the others set up their accounts.” ***

The Captain from the Armoury was waiting for them when they returned to the ship. “I have orders from the Prince to escort you to our northern borders and check our defences, particularly our cannon batteries. When can you leave?”

“In two days,” said Piero. “Captain Foscari wants me to check the cannons on the pirate vessel before he departs to seek our pirate ships.”

“We have made provisions for you to sleep and eat at our barracks. Would you be able to join us tomorrow evening so we can get an early start? I will let the Prince know we will leave in two days.”

That night, they slept aboard the pirate ship with Foscari. “It won’t be the same without you two on the ship in the coming days,” he said at a farewell supper in the Captain’s cabin. “The cook has come up with a special meal in your honour.”

The next morning, Piero inspected each cannon while Niccolo went into town with one of the sailors who gathered metals and chemicals for his formula. He found a place behind an old weather-beaten building where horses were once shod. He placed all his metals and chemicals in an old pot from the ship and made a large brew to last them on their inspection of the northern border.

He returned to the pirate ship to see everyone on their knees, rubbing away the bloodstains on the flooring and cleaning the hold and the gallery, where they had to use a shovel to remove old food and vomit caked to the floor and the food preparation board.

Piero was showing all the deckhands how to load, aim and fire their cannons. When Niccolo emerged, he showed them how to use his formula, starting with boiling a small amount of the mixture, how to sift the pinch of gunpowder and when to run away.

He also needed a large portable vessel to store his formula to take with them on their northern border, occupied by Venice. They hired a carriage to go to the Armoury, where they had help from five soldiers to carry the glass vessel to the carriage that would take them on their journey.

They entered the barracks, where one of the officers found beds for them in a private room. He was a German mercenary with a long, light brown mustache curled at both ends, bright blue eyes that snapped when

he smiled, and a loud barrack-room voice. “I’ll be coming with you on our journey. If you need anything, let me know, and I’ll make sure it will be done. My name is Gunter.” Gunter’s crooked front teeth showed when he tried to smile.

“I have a container deposited in our carriage for the morning. Can you make sure no one enters our carriage tonight and during all the nights we are on our tour?”

The officer shrugged. “There won’t be any danger of anyone stealing anything here, but I will make sure no one does.”

A gong sounded outside their room. “It’s supper time. You’ll be my guests tonight and for the rest of our journey.” He pinched his mustache and held the door open for them.

They entered the dining room. Everyone seemed to be talking at the same time as they sat down, and one of the orderlies brought them plates of spaghetti and a platter of bread and olive oil. A pitcher of wine stood at the centre of the table. Three other officers sat at their table and stood to shake their hands.

“They’re from Germany, like me. The one with bedroom eyes is Eric, who smiled and bowed and the other, older, with a greying mustache, is Fritz. He may not tell you, but he has fought in several wars in Italy. They’ll be joining us on our tour.”

After supper, they met in the officer’s mess and talked about Venice and Bologna on their borders. “They continually raid our farmers and rape our women,” said Eric.

“I gather you’ll be investigating all our cannon batteries. They tell me you used to be Captain in Venice,” said Gunter.

Eric sat up suddenly. “One of you is the famous cannonball creator.”

The others stopped eating. “Is that true?” said Fitz. “I must tell you I never believed that story.”

Niccolo didn’t respond. Piero decided to jump in. “We’re former artillery officers and have a new way of shooting cannonballs.”

Friz shrugged and went on eating as the talk drifted to women and the Prince and his aspirations. “He has built up an army. A great army. I don’t know why we aren’t used to enlarge his domain.”

Gunter shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that too loud, Fritz. If someone else heard what you just said, you might need to find yourself another group.”

Fritz went on eating. “I’ll say this for the Prince, he knows how to treat his soldiers. We have great beds and all we can eat.” He grabbed a piece of bread and poured olive oil on it.

Morning came while it was still dark with a knock from Gunter. He opened the door. “It’s five o’clock, and you have one hour to wash yourselves, dress and eat breakfast.”

They shaved and washed in 40 minutes and went into the officers’ mess for eggs and pork. They were ready before six and went outside to find their container missing. Gunter held the door open for them. “I took the liberty of moving it and covering it up, Just in case someone overheard our discussion at supper.” He removed a covering at the opposite side of their seat and nodded.

They left Ferrara just as the first streaks of dawn appeared in the sky. No one spoke. Fritz and Eric sat on top of their coach, and Gunter closed his eyes and slept for the first hour. Niccolo looked back to see six soldiers on mounts following them.

Gunter opened his eyes and nodded. “The Prince takes no chances.”

They came to a small village, where they stopped to change horses and have a glass of wine. “It will be like this to the border,” said Gunter.

“It’s pretty uneventful,” said Eric.

“I hope it stays that way,” added Fritz, draining his glass and winking at Eric.

It was around noon when they changed horses again and had lunch. “We should be able to reach the border and our barracks before nightfall,” said Gunter. “It’s best we strike out now. I always feel uneasy travelling at night. You never know quite what to expect.”

Aside from a lone horseman trailing them, they reached the northern barracks before the sun went down, stopping twice to change horses. Their coach rolled into the barracks yard, stopping near the entrance. A guard standing outside saluted them. Gunter stayed behind to hide Niccolo’s vessel before leading the horse and coach into the barn on the right of the main entrance.

“We received a message from the Prince that you would be arriving today,” said Carlo Baumann, the officer in charge, a tall Swiss with broad shoulders and large muscles bulging through his shirt. “According to the Prince, you’re here to inspect our cannon batteries.”

He walked into the barracks and had one of the soldiers bring in three more chairs. They barely fitted into his office, just room enough for his desk and chair and two other chairs. A small slit in the concrete let in the light and the air. Two candles lit up the rest of his office. The concrete floor was hard to walk on. Behind him was the large flag of the House of d’Este.

“We’d like to start first thing in the morning,” said Piero.

“What about you three?” he said Fritz, Gunter and Eric.

“Will you be joining us?” said Gunter.

“Three of my men and I will follow you on horseback. They might mistake you for spies otherwise.” Then, after a brief pause, “if you haven’t eaten yet, the mess is still open.”

Baumann rose, opened the door and led them into the mess. He walked with a swagger and led them to a table near the kitchen. He had light brown hair and hard blue eyes and liked to clap his hands for attention. The cook appeared behind the screen.

“These comrades are visiting us for a few days. What can you offer them tonight?”

“What about a traditional Swiss meal?”

Baumann raised his finger and nodded. “I assume that will be agreeable, gentlemen.”

“I was told to give you two extra care,” said Baumann. “I gather you are the two famous ones the whole of Italy is talking about.”

“Hardly famous,” said Niccolo. “You must have us mixed up with someone else.”

Two waiters brought them pitchers of German beer reserved for special guests. Baumann poured them each a large mug and raised his mug. “To the everlasting glory of the House of d’Este.”

Baumann, Gunter, and Fritz started talking in German. “We were just talking about how fortunate we all are to have you both in our midst,” said Gunter in Italian.

The mess was empty of others by the time they finished, and Baumann led them into the barracks and found beds for them all. Niccolo was exhausted and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The others followed him into bed but talked with Piero about the cannons they would see in the morning.

The sound of a bugle woke them immediately. Baumann was already dressed and sitting on the edge of Niccolo’s bed. “No need to rush, gentlemen. We will go to the baths once all the others have left. I hope you slept well last night,” he said to Niccolo.

The blinds were raised, and sunlight lit the barrack floor. They had risen from their beds and had got ready for the baths. They walked inside single file and stood under a long tub, which drenched them with warm water. They towelled themselves dry.

The mess was empty when they entered and ate a hasty breakfast. The

drivers for both carriages were ready, with a third carriage following them carrying six soldiers. Baumann saw Niccolo look back at them. “They’re there to ensure we reach our destination safely. And with you two aboard, we can’t take any chances.”

They drove through the countryside, seeing farmers ploughing the hilly ground, stopping to wave to them, travelling through small villages, where women were carrying baskets of laundry on their heads to wash them in the town’s fountain. Niccolo waved back.

An hour later, they arrived at the first battery. Eighteen soldiers, two to each of the nine cannons, stood at attention when Baumann emerged from their carriage. They saluted him as he introduced Niccolo and Piero. Captain Vasari was in command of the harbourfront battery in Venice before he joined the Prince. He turned to Piero, “they’re yours to command.”

“First of all, I’d like to show you how to load and get your cannons ready for firing. Pretend you see 100 or so Venetians running down the hill. Show me what you’d do.”

They saluted him and then suddenly went into action. Piero counted how long it took each of them to load and get their cannon ready for firing.

“I’d like to see you do it again. If a group of lancers were galloping to take over your position, you’d be at the end of your lances before you fired a shot. Let’s try it again. Only this time, see the lancers only a few seconds away from you.

Piero clapped when they finished. “You shaved nine seconds off your time. I’d like to see you practise this every day for at least an hour. After a month, you’ll do it without thinking. My associate has a few tricks up his sleeve and will show them a few minutes from now. Before then, I’d like to see how you aim your cannons and how to maximize your results.”

It was lunchtime when they finished, and everyone was smiling.

“I think we’ve all learned something this morning. But right now, it’s time to rest and have lunch.” He pointed to one of the soldiers and had him lay out three large tablecloths on the grass below a large shade tree. Another lit a fire and warmed the chicken Baumann had taken from the mess and three large bowls of spaghetti and placed them in the centre of the tablecloths.

Two men were on lookout throughout their lunch and relieved after two other soldiers took their place. A breeze had picked up and brought the scent of flowers in their direction. When lunch was over, Niccolo had two soldiers carry his glass vessel a short distance from the cannons. He motioned for all the members of the battery to sit around him.

“Watch me very carefully.” The two soldiers lifted the glass vessel at

his nod and poured some of it into Niccolo’s container. “Now, watch what I do exactly. I am going to heat the contents over the fire until it boils. But before that, I want each of you to look carefully at the amount of liquid in the container. Now,” he said, pointing to the soldier sitting next to him, “take it to the fire and do not remove it until you see it boiling. He will then take it to the first cannon.”

When he signalled that the liquid was boiling, he carried it to the first cannon and waited for the others to come to him.

“Now, take out the cannonball and put this liquid in the cannon. Next, I need a pinch of gunpowder.”

One of the soldiers returned with a bit of gunpowder in his hand. “Watch what I do next, and then run as fast as you can away from the cannon.” Niccolo stood over the container, began sifting the gunpowder into the liquid, and then ran away as fast as he could.

One of the soldiers was knocked to the ground by the force of the explosion. Baumann looked open-mouthed and kept shaking his head. The others crowded around Niccolo and kept patting his back and arms.

“Is this from the devil’s workshop?” said Fritz.

“Just chemistry. I discovered it while trying to turn lead into gold. I would have forgotten all about it if it hadn’t been for Piero.”

Fritz wasn’t sure and went to smell the uncorked bottle of Niccolo’s formula.

“It’s just another form of gunpowder. Only more powerful. It’s no more from the devil’s workshop than gunpower is.”

Fritz nodded. “But it’s a bit cumbersome than gunpowder.”

“I great you that, and I am working on a powder form, but it still eludes me. So you’ll have to live with what we’ve got for the time being.” Niccolo looked across the stream and beyond to a large forested area. “Can you shoot a cannonball that far now?”

Fritz shook his head. Baumann moved closer. “I can reach that forest easily and beyond with my system,” Niccolo went to the fire, heated his brew again, and went to the cannon with the largest cannon mouth. Two of the men took the cannonball from the rack and rolled it inside the cannon. Niccolo went to the cannon with his container with a larger amount and placed it inside the cannon. The soldiers ran back as Niccolo started to rub the gunpowder into the container.

The blast shook the earth and sent the cannonball far beyond the forested area. Niccolo steadied himself as he reached the others. “Any questions?”

“Can you do this every time?” said Baumann, who couldn’t wait to try

it himself.

Niccolo nodded. Baumann started to walk to the first cannon, but Niccolo grabbed his arm. “This takes some practice to get it right. “To shoot a cannonball a short distance, use only a small amount of my liquid. Make sure it is heated and run as though the devil were after you once you sift in the gunpowder. I’ll join you for the first shot, and then you can try it yourself. I suggest a small distance for beginners,” he added, looking at the others.

He and Baumann went to the fire, poured in a small amount of liquid, and waited until it boiled. Baumann picked it up and placed it inside the cannon. Niccolo helped him move an inch or two closer inside. Baumann sifted in the gunpowder and ran back as fast as possible as the cannon went off and sent the cannonball into the trees. Baumann watched it sail into the forest and shook his head.

“I still can’t believe it.” He looked at Niccolo. “Could you write down exactly what to do at each step?”

“Yes. I will do so now if you provide me with a pen, ink and something to write on.” He started to sketch each step almost immediately.

“You’re quite an artist,” said Baumann.

“My mother wanted me to be an artist, but I have other ideas, a way to get rich fast by turning lead into gold. I completely failed in that and discovered my formula purely by accident.” Then, after a pause, “I think my mother was right. I would certainly have been happier.”

The others crowded around Baumann, shouting to try it next. Baumann raised his arms. “That’s enough for today, gentlemen. Six of your remain and guard the battery with your life. The rest of us will retire for supper. You two will be replaced in time to eat. I assume two of you will guard the battery every night.”

The barracks was not far away and reached a few minutes later. Baumann led the way inside and warned the cook that there would be 11 extra for supper. The soldiers from the battery set up cots for the rest of them. The barracks were smaller, and so was its kitchen. It had no windows and included a stable for their horses.

“How many batteries will we be visiting on this tour?”

“There are two more and two more on our border with Genoa.”

“I’ll need a few bottles to store my liquid for these batteries. And when we return to Ferrara, we will need to create another large batch of the liquid and be sent to equip all batteries.”

“So, noted,” said Baumann, leaving to talk to the chef and his staff. He returned with four bottles which Niccolo filled and hid in the carriage.

Niccolo felt uneasy and had a hard time sleeping. He woke to see Baumann rise from his bed and head out the door. He heard a faint cry from outside and sat up. He lay back again. There were other sounds of voices and another cry. He got up, put on his breeches and doublet, went to the door and opened it slowly. He heard someone moving towards the carriage in the blackness, and he crept slowly to the carriage. He could hear someone breathing hard and grunting as they ripped open one of the seats.

“Stop what you are doing and leave the carriage instantly,” he shouted in a voice that would wake the soldiers sleeping inside. He could see candles being lit inside the barracks, and he called out again.

Suddenly, everything went black. The next thing Niccolo could remember was the feeling of being thrown over a horse and the rider galloping away at breakneck speed. When he woke, it was daylight. He tried to move but was tied to a cot. Niccolo shouted for Piero, but no one seemed to hear him. In the distance, he could hear Italian and German voices in an argument.

He was thirsty and cried out. A tall soldier in a Venetian uniform stuck his head inside. “What do you want?” He spoke in Italian with a German accent.

“I am thirsty. I need water.”

The soldier disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water and another soldier, an officer. “Sorry we had to club you, but we couldn’t risk being caught at your post. It would have meant sudden death for us. We were looking to find out where you had hidden your famous liquid. Where did you hide it?”

“In the barracks. Only my friend knows where. You will have to ask him.”

“The Venetian Council gave particular orders to kill you if you were not cooperative,” said the officer, a tall German mercenary with brown hair, blue eyes and a cruel mouth when he smiled. His face was pockmarked, and he talked slowly in a menacing tone. “We could beat it out of you, but we have a better plan.”

He spoke in German to the other man, who returned with another man he recognized immediately. It was Baumann who smiled at him. “Captain Baumann decided to switch sides a few days ago. He was a wise man who stands to benefit greatly from joining us.”

“I will be returning to the barracks and telling everyone that I heard someone kidnap you and followed them as far as I could and had to turn back when I was spotted. I will ask your friend Piero. I leave in the hour if you do not let us know where it is.”

Niccolo shook his head, and Baumann disappeared. He could hear him ride away and turn. The German officer turned to the soldier who woke him. “Let him live on bread and water for a few days, and perhaps he will come to his senses.”

At lunchtime, the soldier ate in front of Niccolo and offered him a bit of bread and a bottle of water. Niccolo was getting hungry, and the smell of roast chicken made his stomach grumble. He took a mouthful of water and tried to smile.

He felt his head, which ached from being clubbed. He felt the side of his head and found his hair caked and his hand red with blood. He lay down and went to sleep. He dreamed of Serena and wished he had never left Venice. She was talking to him and asking him to come to her.

He woke when the officer returned and shook him. “We have just heard from one of our men who accompanied Captain Baumann to your encampment and found out where your formula was hidden. He will remain behind and lead them astray should your friend unwisely try to follow him.”

“Piero is a smart man, and unless Baumann gave him our secret word, he would lead him astray and try to follow him, wise or unwise.”

Niccolo was getting used to the room. It was small and had room enough for his small cot and two chairs. During the day, the door was left open to let in the light. A small candle above him gave off enough light to barely see where everything was in the room. The smell of urine barely left the air and grew stronger every hour. He turned over and went to sleep.

Baumann reined in his mount into the battery yard. He dismounted and headed straight for Piero. “I woke up in the middle of the night and followed Niccolo into the yard. I heard him shouting before they knocked him out, threw him over a horse and galloped from the battery. I followed them as best I could but was spotted and had to return. They’ve taken him to their encampment and forced him to tell where he had hidden his secret formula. He confides in you,” he said to Piero, “can you tell us where it is?”

Piero could pick up a different smell in Baumann’s clothes and shook his head. Something about Baumann was different. “He changed the place last night and forgot to tell me.”

Baumann looked at him in silence for a few seconds. “Then let us look everywhere and hide it in case he talks, and they come again looking for it.”

“I think Niccolo would be better served if we all went looking for him.”

THE ALCHEMIST

He looked at Gunter, Eric and Fritz, who nodded. “I think you should lead us where you were spotted. I want six soldiers to ride with us in case we have to fight out of there.”

They set out in the afternoon, with Piero and Baumann following the tracks of the kidnappers. An hour later, they came in sight of a forested area. “This is where I was spotted,” said Baumann.

Piero looked at the tracks. “He could not see where Baumann had turned back. “We can at least follow their tracks.”

The tracks led directly to the Venetian encampment. Two sentries walked to and fro at the entrance. They moved among the trees and got as close as they could without being seen.

“I’ll go ahead with Piero and disable the guards before they know we’re there,” said Baumann.

“Can’t risk you falling into their hands.” Piero turned to Eric and Fritz. Take two soldiers with you with cocked crossbows in case you need to use them, and don’t make a sound.”

They set off without a sound, crawling on the grass in the darkness. Baumann was getting restless. Piero looked at him. “If Captain Baumann tries to leave or shout, tie him up and put your hand over his mouth.”

“But he is our Captain.”

“He won’t be once I tell the Prince what he tried to do. And neither will you if you don’t do what I tell you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

They crept almost up to where the sentries were pacing back and forth. Eric nodded to Fritz, who threw a stick into the nearby bushes. The sentries stopped walking immediately. “There’s someone out there. Unsheathe your sword.” The sentry put his finger to his lips as he walked in their direction. The other soldier stood as a backup as the first sentry walked in Fritz’s direction. Fritz waited for him and held his breath. The sentry stopped and looked around and took a few more steps. Eric threw another stick in the opposite direction. The sentry stopped and motioned for the other sentry to investigate the other sound.

“We know you’re out there. Stand where we can see you. If you do not, we will bugle for more soldiers to join us with torches. Give yourself up now. We torture brigands who try to sneak up on us. Eric let the other sentry pass him and walked slowly to the entrance. Fritz threw a rock into the bushes and could make out their bodies heading in the direction of the stone as he made his way to join Eric. They bent and walked slowly around the camp, careful not to make a sound. They spotted a small cabin, and Eric motioned for them to investigate. The door was open. They entered to see a small candle still lit, but the place was empty. Fitz could see the heel marks of someone who had been dragged away.

It had to be Niccolo. They had taken him away; worst of all, the two sentries had returned to the gate. There was no other way out other than the gate without alarming the camp. They crept as quickly as possible. One or twice, a fallen branch snapped when they walked over it. They lay down as the two guards looked inside. In the end, they knew they had to run for it and overpower the guards before they could shout. Fritz led the charge, followed by Eric as they knocked the guards to the ground and put their hands over the guards’ mouths. Piero and the others saw what was hap-

pening and rushed to the gate. They stuck their knives into the guards’ necks. “One word from you, we will slit your throats and leave you dead where you’re standing.”

Piero turned to Fritz. “I don’t see Niccolo.”

“He wasn’t there. Someone got there before us. All we could see was his heel marks.”

Piero’s knife bit into one of the guard’s necks. “Where is he?”

“Four men dressed as priests came to take him to Roma at the request of the Pope.”

“You were taken in,” said Piero as his knife bit the guard’s throat. “No. They had a Papal request which they showed to us.” He reached into his doublet and showed them the scroll with the Pope’s mark on it. One was a bishop and blessed us as they left. We helped them carry your friend to their carriage and saw them drive off.”

“You’re soldiers like us. If you promise not to yell, we will set you free once we pass the forest.”

They reached their carriages before dawn and set the two guards running in the opposite direction. “My best guess is that they headed in the direction of the Adriatic to take him south and, from there, likely to board a boat God knows where. I suspect it’s not Roma.”

“They can’t be too far ahead,” said Fritz, boarding the lead carriage and snapping his reins. They flew at breakneck speed down the road East. At dawn, they could see where their wheels had crossed the wet morning grass. Piero let out a whoop and snapped the reins at least five times to get their carriage swaying at full speed. An hour later, they could see the imprints of their wheels dig even deeper as they sped. “Faster,” Piero said as the driver snapped the reins again.

The sun was out now, and they could see the church spires in the distance. Their horses had slowed, and it took a bit longer to reach the village and the harbour, where several ships were at anchor.

Piero pointed to a ship in the process of unfurling its masts. Piero was the first to jump out and run to the boat. He boarded the boat with two soldiers behind him. You have someone aboard who has been kidnapped by four men disguised as priests. The deckhand shook his head. “No priests aboard here. Look around, but we’ll be sailing in a few minutes.”

Piero led them through the boat. “Look downstairs. If he’s not there, look at the deckhands.” Five minutes later, they could only see one of the ships suddenly leaving port with its masts unfurled. Piero watched it leave the dock and somehow felt Niccolo was on it. He watched it until it disappeared and turned away. Piero bowed his head and went back to the car-

riage. They were still in Venetian territory, and the boat had turned south towards the Papal States.

“It’s best we get back to Ferrara as soon as possible. They headed west and turned south at a turn in the road. They reached Baumann’s camp in the late afternoon. His men were surprised to see their Captain tied up as they helped him off the carriage.

“I’m in charge now until someone from Ferrara replaces him. See that he is locked up, and one of my guards posted outside.” They went inside for the evening meal, and Piero stood at the end. “Your Captain has joined the Venetians, and he will be escorted to Ferrara for the Prince to decide his fate. No one is to approach Baumann where he is confined or offer him any food or water unless authorized by me. If there are any questions?”

He waited, but they left in small groups, muttering among themselves and headed for the barracks. Piero met with Fritz and Eric.

“They were quite attached to Baumann. For many of them, he was their first commander and treated them well,” said Fritz. “They’re having a hard time dealing with the fact that he was now their enemy.”

“They’ll get over it,” said Eric.

“Do you know if he had any friends at camp?”

“Not sure,” said Fritz. “He mostly kept to himself.”

Piero ordered them a glass of wine, and they sat back, and Piero talked to them about Niccolo when they were boys. They toasted Niccolo, and he looked at Fritz. “As senior officer at the moment, I am appointing you next in charge, with Eric as your next in command. You both have proved yourselves during our foray into Venetian territory.”

The barracks were dark when they entered, and they had to feel their way to their cots. They undressed and slid into bed. Piero had a hard time getting to sleep and blamed himself for not being there for him. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He would see the Prince and volunteer to track him down, starting in Roma.

In the morning, Eric, who had finished his breakfast before Fritz, waited until Piero had finished eating. He came to their table. “Come quick.”

The urgency in Eric’s voice made both Piero and Fritz stand immediately. “What’s happened?” said Piero.

“You’ll see in a few seconds.”

Some of the men stood around the soldier on duty. His throat had been cut, and Baumann had disappeared, taking one of their horses with him.

“Did anyone see who did this?” Piero looked at all their faces. They all looked at the body of the soldier and remained silent. “It would appear

that your old Captain has an accomplice that helped him escape. That person could be standing next to you. In the meantime, I want this soldier’s body buried with full honours and a priest at the gravesite to offer prayers at his burial.” He turned to Eric. “I leave this in your hands.”

Piero waved Fritz to follow him into the mess. He looked around to make sure they were alone. “There is a traitor in our midst. With Baumann escaping, and the murder of one of our soldiers and a Venetian spy, I need to go back to Ferrara and talk about this and the rescue of Niccolo. At lunch, I will announce that I am leaving the camp and that you are their new commanding officer.”

Fritz nodded and tried to smile. “Count on me to get the job done. I’m an old soldier and have seen a lot of things. I know I can trust Eric, and unless you have objections, I’d like to appoint him as assistant camp commander.”

“How do you think they will take it? Eric is a bit young for a senior posting.”

“I know I can trust him when the going gets rough. I’ll help him along the way to become the best upcoming commander in the Prince’s army.”

They shook hands. Fritz left to talk to Eric while Piero arranged a carriage for him and four soldiers to accompany him to Ferrara.

At lunch, Piero rose. “I have two announcements.”

The soldiers stopped all talking to look at him. The cook waited to serve the meal.

“First, the funeral for our murdered comrade is set for one o’clock. Patre Domenico, sitting beside me, will officiate. Second, the latest events compel me to go back to Ferarra to consult with the Prince. Fritz Fischer has been appointed commanding officer. You take your orders from him from this moment on.”

After lunch, they filed into the chapel, where Padre Domenico offered a requiem mass before leading them out to the camp gravesite. He was followed by Piero and Fritz and then the other soldiers.

Following the funeral, Piero invited Padre Domenico to join him. Fritz had lined the soldiers at attention to salute him as their coach passed them and headed down the road. The last thing he heard was Fritz shouting at the top of his voice. He dropped Padre Domenico off and headed down the road to Ferrara.

The Prince’s emissary spotted his carriage stop at the palace door, and he left to help Piero leave the carriage. “It is pleasant to see you come back

to us, Signore. But where is your companion, Niccolo?”

“That’s why I urgently need to see the Prince.”

The emissary led him inside and whispered to the Prince’s chamberlain, who left to see the Prince. He reappeared to wave them forward and opened the door to the Prince’s chambers. The Prince stepped down to shake his hand. “I understand you have urgent news for us.”

“The Venetians raided our battery and kidnapped Niccolo. We followed them to the Venetian camp, only to learn that he had been kidnapped again by four men dressed as priests, who provided a papal demand to release Niccolo to their care.”

The Prince’s face was expressionless, and he glanced at one of his servants to find chairs for them both. Only when they were settled did Piero begin. “We tracked them down to a village in Venus territory only to see him sail away in one of the ships in the harbour. There was a strong wind, and any attempt to follow them would have been useless by the time we arranged for a ship to follow them.”

The Prince sat back. “I sense there is more.”

Piero nodded. The commanding officer at your battery there helped the Venetians kidnap Niccolo. We caught up with him and had him locked up. We found him escaped, and the soldier guarding him had his throat slit.”

“A spy in our camp. I’m sorry to hear this.” Then after a pause. “How did you leave things?”

“I appointed one of the German mercenaries as camp commander, subject to your approval. When we raised the Venetian camp, he proved himself to me in a dozen ways. I’ve asked him to find out who the spy is. I have every confidence that he will.”

“What about our good friend, Niccolo?”

“I would like your permission to go to Roma and try my best to track him down. Just as the Venetians knew where to find him, I feel confident many people will know about him and where he can be found.”

“Go and bring our good friend back to us. I will have one of our priests go with you.”

Piero was about to shake his head but stopped when the Prince went on: “He will find out things from other priests you could not. He will accompany you on a pilgrimage to Roma. You can trust him. He is my confessor.”

When he left the palace, Piero headed down to the dock. A ship was about to dock, and he could see Foscari standing on the upper deck. He waved to him, but Foscari failed to see it. Piero went to the dock and wait-

ed until Foscari made his way down the makeshift gangplank.

His eyes lit up as soon as he saw Piero, and he raced down the gangplank. “And where is my good friend, Niccolo?”

Piero shook his head. “The Venetians kidnapped him, and he is now on a ship to the Papal States.”

“Maybe they are still on the water. Who knows where they will land? My boat is ready if you are?”

He sent out one of his deckhands to rouse the others to come back to the ship and then to go to the palace and tell the Prince’s emissary that you and I are trying to capture the vessel Niccolo may still be on.”

They were out into the Adriatic in less than an hour. The old pirate ship was built to skim through the water like a speed boat, and an hour later, they were heading south. There were no sails in sight. It was near dark when they spotted a ship that looked like the one Piero had watched leave the harbour only two days ago. It was a merchant vessel and was no match for the old pirate ship.

Two hours later, Foscari sailed next to it and ordered the captain to reduce sail. He held a lighted torch next to a cannon. The captain sent his deckhands up the sails immediately. Foscari moved close to the other ship, and his men used grappling irons to fasten the boat to theirs. Foscari and Piero jumped aboard. They approached the captain. ”We are not pirates. We just want to inspect your cargo. And then we’ll leave you.”

Six deckhands jumped aboard and went over every inch of the ship. Foscari and Pireo entered the captain’s cabin. They lifted all boxes and looked inside the captain’s closet, which contained only another jacket and some shirts. They thumped the back wall for a hidden compartment. Still nothing. They returned above and looked at the deckhands, who shook their heads.

“Thank you for stopping for us, captain. You are free to go,” said Foscari. “We hunt out pirate ships. We just wanted to be sure.” He tipped his hat as he and Piero boarded their ship.

“I think he may have already docked and dispensed with his cargo,” said Foscari.

Aboard the other ship, the captain slid open the false bottom of his clothes closet, removed the cloth around Niccolo’s mouth, and untied the ropes around his body, head, and feet. He smiled as he led him upstairs.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Niccolo could not complain about how he was treated. He slept in a room all his own. He ate at the captain’s table every night and dined on wine from southern Italy and flavoured grappa he had never tasted before. The cook had prepared Niccolo’s favourite spaghetti and roast chicken.

They docked at Pescara the next day. Niccolo stood on the deck to watch the deckhands jump from their ship and tie up their vessel. Niccolo stood at the edge of the gangplank but was hauled back by the captain. It was market day, and the port was alive with women and older men buying vegetables and flour amid loud voices trying to get a better price. Chickens were hung by their feet at several booths, and fresh meat was chopped in front of housewives gossiping with their neighbours. Young boys ran around the market until they were caught by their necks by their mothers and threatened if they left their sides. The smell of fresh vegetables and fruit hung in the air, reaching them where they were standing.

“Four men from the Pope will come to greet you and take you to Roma. It’s a two-day drive by carriage from Pescara. You must be very important to receive such attention.”

Niccolo looked away, thinking the best way to escape and hide would be in the market. Getting off the ship would be the hardest. Too many people could stop him before he could reached the gangplank. An hour later, it was decided for him when the four priests walked to the gangplank and escorted him down the gangplank and onto the pier. The priest on his left grabbed his arm, and the priest on his right did the same. “We want to ensure you are not hurt while walking alone. They kept their arms looped in

his as they left the market and headed for their coach.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To Roma. The Pope has greatly interested you,” said the grey-bearded bishop. “You’ve become quite a celebrity.” One of the priests entered the coach first and helped Niccolo to the seat beside him. The three others had removed their clerical robes and boarded the coach in full armour. No one spoke until they stopped for their evening meal at a military camp on the road to Rome. The commander introduced Niccolo and the knights before they offered prayers for their dinner. Wine was served from vases with curved spouts. The mess was long and narrow. Small windows at the top of the walls, sunlight, and large flags with the papal crest hung from the walls. A monk played church music that could barely be heard above the buzz of voices. Large tables that sat six people lined both walls. At the back was a large crucifix where everyone bowed as they walked in and out of the mess.

A number of the knights crowded around their table to shake Nicolo’s hand. “Is it true that you’ve invested a way to shoot a cannonball across the Adriatic?”

“I think that is somewhat of an exaggeration,” he said, trying to laugh with them.

“You’re exactly the miracle we’ve been waiting for said a grey-bearded knight. Italia is a nightmare of wars. There needs to be an end to them. And we see you as the instrument that will make this happen.”

Once one group would leave, another took their place, asking the same questions. They all wanted to shake Niccolo’s hand, and many blessed him. The man who played the role of a bishop leaned towards him once the mess was empty. “Now you realize why you’ve been sent to us. We want peace, but no one in Italia has been able to achieve that.”

They left, crossing themselves in front of the crucifix, and headed for the barracks. They found cots near the end of the room, where there was a closet where they could remove their clothes and armour. “Good night,” each of them said to him as they blew out their candles and turned on their sides to sleep.

They were up and dressed before the others awoke and headed for the officer’s mess for an early breakfast. The cook provided food to take with them as they boarded their coach. They left the camp and headed on the main road to Roma. It was already hot, and they opened the windows of the coach to let out the heat. Looking at them in their armour, Niccolo was glad he was wearing only his doublet, which he removed as the heat was at its worst. They stopped at a village to fill themselves with water and chat

with the women bringing clothes to wash in the fountain. The grey-bearded knight introduced him as the man who would save Italia.

The knights removed their armour and fanned themselves as they boarded their coach and headed out onto the main road again. It proved to be a mistake when someone boarded their coach and threw their driver on the road as they took control of the coach, snapping the reins to get their horses to increase their speed. The coach suddenly veered off the main road onto another small narrow road, barely large enough to handle one coach at a time. The knights shouted for them to stop, but the driver paid no attention. They could see other men raising horses alongside them, dressed in breastplates and aiming crossbows at them whenever they stuck their heads out. The knights put on their armour again and opened a cabinet in the upper ceiling containing crossbows and bolts. They wound their crossbows and aimed at each of the riders. They missed the first rider but wounded the second rider’s mount.

The coach suddenly came to a halt. The rider jumped off the coach as the others reined in their horses, aiming their crossbows at each of them. They removed the knights’ weapons and stripped them of their armour. The driver boarded the coach and drove it off, with the others following them. They walked back along the narrow road until they reached the main road. Their feet were sore from the walking by the time they came in sight of a village. They were hungry and thirsty and stopped at the fountain to drink and looked for an inn where they could find shelter. There wasn’t any. They stopped at a large house near the end of the village and knocked on the door.

A woman peeked out the window. Her husband raised the windows. “What do you want? We are at supper and do not wish to be disturbed. He was about to close the window when the grey-beared knight shouted, “we are knights of the Pope’s army and were attacked by a group of outlaws who took our armour and our coach. We are on our way to see the Pope now. Where can we find your church and your priest?”

The man opened the window a bit more. “You’ll find both on a side street in the middle of the village.”

While this was going on, Niccolo saw his chance to edge away from them slowly and ran towards the village as fast as he could. He would find a barn to sleep in, stop at the bakery, pay for a loaf of fresh bread, and pay for the loaf with a few coins he still had in his pocket. He spotted a barn along a side road, where he sat down and ate the bread before bunching together some hay to sleep on. It was getting dark, and he looked around to see their coach. He closed his eyes and went to sleep to the smell of

sweetgrass.

He woke to the sound of voices. He held his breath and strained to hear what they were talking about. He heard the mention of the coach and recognized the voice of the grey-bearded knight in the reply. “All we need now is our horses.” Another voice, a young voice, drifted across the room.

“Check inside and see if they left our weapons and armour,” said greybeard.

He could hear one of them come his way. Niccolo saw his hands feel around the hay. “At least we’ve got a great place to sleep. I’m so tired, I could die,” said the younger one. His hands came within an inch of Niccolo’s face. The young one stood and walked to the coach, felt inside and found one of their crossbows. Several bolts were strewn on the floor.

“I’ve just found our swords,” said another voice. They placed everything on the floor and brought out everything outside to see what they had in the light of the moon. They could hear voices coming towards them, and they slipped back into the barn and hid in the hay with their crossbows cocked and ready. There were six of them, as clear as day in the moonlight from the open door. They went behind the coach and pushed the coach into the barnyard. Two of them left to find the horses that came with the coach, returning a few minutes later.

Niccolo could hear greybeard telling the others how they should attack. They emerged from the hay and stood in the middle of the barn. At a signal from greybeard, four bolts went into the chests of four men. Niccolo moved from his position to get a better view of what was happening. The knights wound their crossbows and had them ready to shoot again when the others returned with the horses. He could see them bend on one knee and discover the bolts sticking out of their friends’ chests. They rose and ran away into the darkness.

The knights returned to the barn and decided to leave before the two men who escaped returned with others to shoot it out with them. Two of the knights helped their driver harness the horses to their coach when one of the knights spotted Niccolo and shouted, “there’s one more in the hay.”

They stood together and aimed their crossbows at Niccolo, who emerged from the hay, shaking.

“It’s me,” said Niccolo as he stepped towards them.

“We’ve recovered everything,” said greybeard with a laugh. The other knights crowded around Niccolo and led him back to the coach. We thought you might be in the barn as soon as we spotted it.”

Niccolo climbed aboard and sat next to greybeard as they headed out, with one of the knights leading the horse out of the barnyard and onto the

road. The moonlight lit their way as they left the outskirts of the village. At that point, the driver snapped the reins three times, and they found themselves flying away. The knights took turns keeping a lookout for any signs of trouble.

The coach entered a town with an inn by sunrise, and they decided to stop and rest before resuming their journey. They had to wake Niccolo three times before he washed and got himself ready. It was late afternoon, and they had an early dinner before leaving.

“We will be in Roma before midnight. We will stop at our barracks and sleep well before entering St. Peter’s. The Pope looks forward to meeting you and has a special message for you.”

Probably, thought Niccolo, it’s about my formula. Like all the others he met, he steeled himself for what he knew would be another painful experience. No one, except Piero, really cared about him.

They entered the outskirts of Roma just before sunset and headed for the large building that housed most of the senior knights and commanders. They passed one church after another. The streets had thinned out, but many still thronged the markets they passed. The driver slowed down their horses as they neared their headquarters, jumping off and leading them to the adjacent barn. Greybeard was the first to leave, followed by Niccolo and the others. He led them inside, where a large crucifix had been nailed to the sidewall. They crossed themselves and walked down two columns of knights to a small crowd where the commanding knight was holding court.

Octavio Crafa wore shining armour with a papal crest on his breastplate. “So this is the elusive inventor of a major formula that can send a cannonball for miles.”

Niccolo didn’t respond and bowed his head. This, he realized for the 100th time, his formula had turned into a curse. He wished he was still in his small shack, trying to turn lead into gold. But that, too, would have become an even greater curse, he felt as an afterthought.

“You don’t look as though you could invent a flea.”

Niccolo kept his head bent and shivered. He held his breath, waiting for the commanding officer’s next comment. He knew humility would serve his interests best now.

“Speak up,” said the commanding officer in a thunderous voice. He was a tall man with a black beard that covered most of his face. His eyes were blue and looked cold and hard. “Draw closer so I can get a good look at you.”

Greybeard prodded him to step closer and whispered in Niccolo’s ear,

“his bark will not kill you.”

Crafa waved him even closer. “You will be presented to His Holiness in due course. He has taken an interest in you, for only God knows why.”

Niccolo nodded and bowed his head again.

“Until he does, you will be imprisoned in one of our cells below and guarded night and day. So give up all hopes of ever trying to escape. If you have any questions, the time to tell us is now.”

“When am I likely to be presented to His Holiness?”

“That’s hard to say. It might be in three or four days or even three years. It’s hard to say with this Pope.”

Niccolo bowed and turned. Greybeard led him away and down a winding stone staircase to the floor below. He opened the fifth cell, led Niccolo inside, and showed him his bed and a pail to relieve himself. Greybeard locked the cell and bowed to him before disappearing up the stone steps.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Prince offered Piero a seat next to him. “I’ve been remiss. I should have summoned earlier, but other matters have occupied me.” Then, after a pause. “Any word about our good friend, Niccolo?”

Piero shook his head. I was hoping you might know. Your sources are far greater than mine, Prince.”

“Your hunch that he was kidnapped was sound,” said Niccolo II, suddenly standing. “Join me as I do my walk around the palace.” They were upstairs and walking slowly. The Prince had his hand on the railing. The stairs wound in a slow curve and gave them a view of the receiving hall and the receiving room with its black and white marble floor. Pictures of previous princes followed them each step of the way.

When they reached the bottom floor, the Prince nodded. “Yes, a good hunch. My informants tell me Niccolo has been taken to Roma and that the Pope has expressed interest in talking to him. In the meantime, he is cooling his heels in the dungeon below the papal army’s headquarters. Should you wish to help your friend escape, I should understand. You will need money to cross palms and perhaps help Niccolo escape and be brought back to Ferrara, where he is fully appreciated.”

Piero bowed and kissed the Prince’s outstretched hand. He sought out the Prince’s treasurer as the Prince made his way slowly back up the stairs. The treasurer, a man in his late 50s with a black doublet and white hair, was waiting for him in the next room. “I understand that you will be undertaking a mission for the Prince and may need this.” He passed him a leather bag. “There are 500 gold florins, and help you on your mission.”

“Should I need more? How can I access my bank account from where I am?”

The treasurer nodded. “I will provide you with the names of bankers in a number of cities. The House of d’Este has an arrangement with them.”

Piero stashed the bag of coins inside his doublet and headed for his rooms near the port. He hid the bag behind a painting and thought about Niccolo before they started on their adventure. He went to the dock to see what ships might be sailing as far south as Pescara. In retrospect, that was exactly where his kidnappers had probably landed. It was closer to Roma than any other port.

Piero walked along the pier and asked a few sailors if any ships were sailing south.

“That one over there can take you south but not all the way to Pescara. You’re more likely to find passage to Pescara from there.”

Piero thanked him and gave him a couple of copper coins. He walked down the pier where the ship was tied up and asked one of the deckhands to come aboard. The captain appeared a few minutes later.

“I’m looking for passage to as far south as your ship will take me,” Piero yelled up to him. “I’m willing to pay.”

“We leave on the evening tide, with or without you. It will cost you a florin. “

“That’s too much for me. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“How much can you pay?”

“One silver House d’Este coin.”

“That will do. Just be here before the tide changes.”

Piero returned to his room, hid the bag of florins among his clothes, left to find something to eat, and went to the bank to change two golden florins into silver and copper coins. He also bought a loaf of bread and hid it among his clothes. It might come in handy if the boat leaves after the evening meal. The walk to the pier took only 20 minutes out, but he was tired from rushing around and stood at the dock and shouted for the captain.

“Wait until we put down the gangplank for you. Mind, it’s a bit slippery so hold onto the ropes as you make your way up.”

The gangplank was lowered a few minutes later, and one of the deckhands made his way down to pick up his bag and help him get his footing solidly on the gangplank. The captain had his hand out to Piero and hauled him onto the deck.

“My name is Ulisse Arcimboldo, captain of the Seagull. Glad to have you aboard. One of the crew will take your bag to the cabin where you’ll be sleeping.”

Arcimboldo followed Piero down the stairs and to the first mate’s quarters. The deckhand opened the door and gave him the key. Arcimbol-

do joined him in the cabin. “It is payment in advance. I should not like to feed you and provide you with passage and find you had no money. “

Piero reached into his doublet and withdrew a silver florin and a couple of copper coins. Arcimboldo took the money and smiled. “If you haven’t eaten, I’ll have our cook bring you something. One last thing,” he said, pausing at the door. “I hope you don’t get seasick. We don’t have a doctor aboard.”

Piero locked the door behind him and searched around the cabin for a good place to hide his bag of coins. He looked under his bed and in the clothes cabinet and if there were a hidden compartment behind it. His room had a porthole, and he looked out to see their ship leave the pier. What would be the last place they would look, he wondered. In the corner of the room was a bucket where he could relieve himself and, not far from it, a small mousehole. He withdrew his bag of coins and stuffed it inside the mousehole. It was easy to access and could be checked daily without much work.

He felt very pleased when the cook appeared at the door with a plate of fried chicken, spaghetti, and two slices of bread. There was also a glass of wine. The cook, a short man with fat cheeks and rolling dark eyes, was dressed in a dark-stained white apron and shoes too big for him. His front tooth was missing from a fight long ago. He had a soft voice and liked to smile.

Piero looked out the porthole and saw they were heading down the Po River and would soon be heading out into the Adriatic. Later, when they reached the sea, his cabin suddenly cooled, and he went upstairs. Arcimboldo was on the upper deck talking to the deckhand at the wheel and waved Piero to join them.

“In case you’re wondering, we should reach our destination by this time tomorrow. I hope you enjoy your voyage with us. Should you wish to return later, I would gladly take you back for a small fee.”

Piero nodded. “I see red in the sky. That suggests that we may be in for a bit of bad weather.”

“Don’t worry about your safety. The Seagull has weathered many storms and has always been able to ride them out. How was your supper?”

“It was wonderful.”

“Then join me in my cabin for breakfast. Perhaps we can share stories and entertain ourselves.”

Piero returned to his cabin an hour later. It had grown dark, and the sea was becoming choppy when he returned to his cabin, feeling his way and holding onto the railing until he reached his door. He opened it with

his key and slipped inside, almost falling on the floor when a large wave crashed against the ship. He made his way to his bed, holding onto the wall as another big wave hit the ship. He undressed and slipped into his bunk.

In the morning, there were no signs that the storm was about to decrease. Piero washed and dressed hurriedly. He tried to check the mouse hole and was thrown on the floor. His bag was still there. He felt it and decided to put a knife inside the bag to discourage anyone from stealing it. Piero used the back of his bunk to help him rise off the floor. He immediately went to the porthole. He could see another big wave ready to crash over the ship and braced himself. He left his cabin, locked it, and headed for the captain’s cabin. He held onto the doorknob and knocked on the door. He heard Arcimboldo shout, “it’s open.”

Piero opened the door to find the captain sitting at the table where a plate of eggs was waiting for him. “It’s a bit rough, captain,” he said, sitting in front of his plate. “I’m not sure I can join you, captain. I feel a bit queasy.”

“You’re not going to get sick on me, are you?”

Piero shook his head. “It’s just that the storm has stolen away my appetite. If you were kind enough to invite me to supper, I would be hungry then.”

Arcimboldo laughed hard and held onto the table as another big wave washed over the ship. “It would be my honour. Supper then,” he added as Piero got to his feet and staggered out of the captain’s quarters and into his room, where he flopped on his bed and closed his eyes, falling asleep as the ship rode one big wave after another.

He woke sometime in the afternoon and raised himself to look out the porthole. The sea had outrun the storm and they were making good time with a strong wind puffing the sails. He rose and tied his doublet and brushed his hair. He had not shaved in two days and looked it. He decided to go to the deck and see what damage the storm had caused. Captain Arcimboldo helped him on deck. Piero looked around and everything seemed in order. Two men were in the rigging, trying to unfurl the last sail.

“The Seagull is a great ship, Captain. She will always bring you luck,” said Piero as he clapped Arcimboldo on the back. “When are we likely to reach the port? I hope the storm has not cost you time.”

“Let me take a reading.” He used a strange instrument to scan the sky and the horizon. “A few hours, but if the wind picks up, it could be sooner.” Piero scanned the horizon and spotted a sail trailing them. He pointed it out to the Captain, who picked up his telescope and went to the back of the ship to find out what flag it was carrying.

“I’m not sure. There’s no flag, from what I see. That means it could be a pirate, and that’s the last thing we need to see at any time.”

“I used to be a Captain of a battery of cannons in Venice. If you have cannons aboard your vessel, we might be able to make landfall before they board us.”

“We don’t have any cannons. We’re just a merchant ship with no cannons. Our only hope is to reach landfall somewhere.” Leaving his telescope with Piero, he left, went onto the upper deck, and ordered the wheelsman to turn the ship towards land. Piero went to the rear of the boat to see if the pirate was gaining on them to find a second ship behind the pirate. It, too, bore no flag. He waved to Arcimboldo and pointed to the two ships. Arcimboldo grabbed the telescope.

“It looks like two pirate ships, with the second one a bit larger, and they’re gaining on us.”

Arcimboldo yelled to the first mate to break open the cutlasses and bring them to the deck. He then had all the deckhands around him. “It looks as though we’re in for a fight for our lives. If they try to grapple us, cut their hands off.” He armed three of them with crossbows and a few bolts to climb into the masts. “Shoot them from there. I will fight them below with the others.” He turned to Piero. “Do you know how to use a crossbow?”

Piero nodded and wound it and inserted a bolt. Arcimboldo smiled at him and

shouted to the lookout. “Any sign of land yet?”

The lookout instead pointed to the two ships. The second one was gaining on the first and would soon be in a position to board them. Arcimboldo raised his hand to Piero to join him. “We’re carrying a load of pitch in the hold. Take one of the deckhands and go below. The pitch is in large bottles, and bring one up. They’re heavy, but two of you should be able to manage it.”

There were six large glass containers tied down in the hold. It took Piero and the deckhand to remove it from its perch and roll it to the stairway. They then lifted it one step at a time. By the time they reached the deck, they were breathing heavily. Arcimboldo had ordered his men in the masts to return to the deck, dip their bolts in the pitch, and carry a small glass with embers in each to light the pitch before shooting them at the sails of the first pirate ship. The cook arrived on deck with the timbers in small glasses. The men grabbed them, dipped their bolts in the pitch, and went aloft using one hand, along with one final instruction from the captain, “use the other arrows to set their boat afire.”

As the first pirate neared them, the deckhands in the masts lit their bolts and sent them into the sails of the first boat. As they came closer, they aimed their flaming bolts at different parts of the ship.

Arcimboldo spotted the captain in front of his crew as they neared his ship. He aimed and shot his bolt at the pirate captain, who moved just in time so that the bolt went through his right arm. Piero shot his crossbow, and it hit the captain in the chest. He was wearing a breastplate, and the bolt went glanced off. Arcimboldo had readied his crossbow and, this time aimed it at the captain’s head. The bolt hit him between his eyes, and he fell overboard. The others paused, and a new leader emerged and ordered them to jump abroad as soon as their boats touched. They began shouting and waving their cutlasses when flaming bolts from above hit the first four, who slid into the sea.

The second ship suddenly appeared next to them and sent a broadside into the first pirate ship, which slowly began to sink. Piero was about to aim his crossbow at the other captain when he lowered his crossbow and reached out for Arcimboldo to lower his. “It’s not a pirate ship. I know the Captain.”

Arcimboldo waved to his men to lower their cutlasses and for the men in the rigging men to return to the deck. By this time, Piero went to the side of the ship and began waving at Foscari.

“Where are you headed?” Foscari shouted.

“To Pescara.”

“Climb aboard. We’re heading in that direction ourselves,” said Foscari, who had moved to the side of his ship. Piero took Arcimboldo by the arm and went to meet Foscari, who bowed and introduced himself and that the Prince of d’Este had commissioned him to wipe the Adriatic free of pirates. “That one will never bother you again.”

“Please wait until I get my bag from my room. Piero danced down the stairs, put his clothes in the bag and knelt to retrieve his bag of coins from the mouse hole, almost cutting himself with the knife he had inserted in the bag. He put the coins inside his clothes bag and raced up the stairs, where he saw them shake hands. He glanced inside and saw the gold florins grin at him.

“I owe you your passage money,” said Arcimboldo, reaching into his pocket.

Piero smiled and shook his head. “It was a trip of a lifetime. I will not forget you or The Seagull.”

Arcimboldo helped him climb the side of the boat and steady him before he jumped aboard. Foscari tipped his hat, which he grabbed from the

pirate captain to Arcimboldo. Foscari’s deckhands uncoupled their ships, and they slowly drifted away. Piero waved to Arcimboldo and went downstairs to Foscari’s cabin, who had laid out a large map of the Adriatic on his table and was murmuring to himself. He looked up when he sensed Piero’s presence. “We should make Pescara in a couple of days.” He waved Piero to the chair next to him. “What brings you to these waters?”

“I am on a mission for the Prince.”

“Probably to find your friend and bring him back to Ferrara.”

Piero nodded and lapsed into silence.

“If you’re going to Pescara, it means you think maybe somewhere in the Papal Estates. They’re a mean bunch, even when they try to be friendly. If you’re smart, you’ll not put your trust in any one of them.” I wish you a lot of luck.

“For your ears only. Niccolo was adducted by the Venetians, who in turn were hoodwinked by four knights from the Papal Estates dressed as priests. They had a document with the Pope’s seal and crest, asking that he be released to the Pope.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Niccolo did not have anything to eat for two days and could smell the food they brought to other prisoners. He held his hand to one of the passing guards, who shook his arm free and walked on before asking when he would be fed. The water in his cap was almost gone, and he despaired he would die before they decided to feed him. Nightfall seemed to take forever. The cells were silent. The older man in the next cell offered him some water. He drank it quickly and held out his cupped hand for another mouthful. The older man, who looked in his sixties, had a long white beard, and his brown eyes were almost hidden in the folds of his beard.

“Why are you here, old man?”

“I am a prisoner of war, and I now believe they mean to keep me here until I die. And you?”

“I was kidnapped by agents of the Pope, and I’ve been sent here until the Pope gets around to seeing me.” Niccolo’s throat was sore, and it pained him to talk.

“There are a few others who can tell you the same story and have been left to rot here. I think they’ve forgotten about him.”

That night, Niccolo dreamed of Serena. She talked to her priest and told him that her great love was in prison and languishing for her and asked what she should do. Piero suddenly appeared in Serena’s tavern and told her that he had died and that it was time for her to find another. He woke in a cold sweat. It was still dark, and he could hear sounds from above. Another day when he had to face hunger and thirst.

He could hear someone coming down the stairs. He sat up and wrapped his arms around his body to keep whatever warmth there was inside. He could see someone pass his cell in the darkness and walk back.

He stopped at Niccolo’s cell and unlocked his door, and entered. It was greybeard. He lifted him in his arms and carried him out of the cell, up the stairs, into the main hall, and to the washing room beyond.

“You look like a beggar in your face and straggly beard.” Greybeard found a pair of scissors and began to cut his hair and dark brown beard. He washed him all over in cold water and dried him. “Here, jump into these,” he said, passing him a pair of black breeches. Next came a white shirt and a dark blue doublet.

“Why are you doing all this? For the past five days, I have received no water or food for my stomach.”

“You have been going through a period of fasting and preparing yourself and your mind to meet the Pope. He has asked about you. A table for you has been set in the kitchen. But a word of warning. You may get sick if you eat too quickly or too much. More food will come later.”

Piero poured himself a glass of water and drank it all without stopping. He raised his glass and asked for another. Next came an egg and a piece of toast.

“There will also be a light lunch before we set out for St. Peter’s,” said Greybeard.

Piero sat among the others, feeling like a free man for the first time. Several knights came by his table and wished him good luck. “If the Pope takes a liking to you, a lot of doors will suddenly open for you. And if he doesn’t, you’ll return to your cell and will not be let free until you provide us with your formula.”

He wasn’t surprised by greybeard’s revelation. He had a feeling that was what the kidnapping was all about.

“I see that disturbs you. It’s what we want, but the Pope may have something different in mind. He is a great Pope with ideas of his own. You remind me of him in some ways. But you and the knights will know what he decides by the time you return with us.” Greybeard smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. No matter what the Pope decides, you will find a welcome spot with us.”

The balance of the morning was spent with the commanding officer, who talked about when to bow his head and how to address the Pope, even where to stand if he waves you to join him.

Lunch consisted mainly of fruit and more water. His body still wanted more, but greybeard advised against it. They left the knights’ headquarters around two and drove to St. Peter’s in a carriage with the top down. Greybeard sat beside him and pointed to Roma’s famous landmarks, including the Coliseum and several famous churches. One of the Pope’s guards took

over the carriage, and another led them inside. They stopped inside Lateran Palace to bless themselves before being led to the Pope’s audience chambers.

Niccolo felt his heart stop as they entered the hall. The Pope was seated on a dias holding a large cross. He was dressed in heavy light brown robes with a red stole. About a dozen guards were positioned at strategic locations around the palace. There were no windows, and at least a hundred or more candles flooded the chamber with a brilliant light. The air was warm from the candles, and the Pope took off his large gloves and put them on his lap. Incense curled into the air from a burner on the other side of his chair. There was a smile in his grey eyes that somehow changed the atmosphere.

Several people were ahead of Niccolo, and an hour passed before his name was called. Greybeard pushed him forward and marched him down the aisle lined with cardinals and bishops. A boy’s choir was singing Tatum Ergo, led by a priest in black and white robes. When the hymn ended, he motioned for them to approach. Niccolo bent his head and waited for the Pope to speak.

“You do not look as happy as I imagined, my son. We have been told your formula would end all the fighting in Italia. Would that it might be true. But the cost of lives may not be worth it. What do you think?”

“I am not a knight, Holy Father, and I am not wise in the ways of warfare.”

“Should my knights be correct, would you offer us your formula?”

“Only if you ask.” Niccolo wasn’t sure if he should offer the Pope his real opinion but chanced it. “For me, I must tell you that it has been a nightmare -- a curse in every sense of the word. I wish I had never discovered it. Once unleashed, you may find it the same way.”

Niccolo watched the Pope nod and was struck by the peace in his eyes. “You are wiser than most of my advisers. If you were a churchman, I should make you one of my cardinals. Common sense is sorely lacking with some of them at times.”

“What would you have me do, Santo Padre?”

“I would like you to devote the rest of your life to creating potions for the ailments that afflict all of us at one time or another. How would that suit you, Niccolo?”

“Santo Padre,” he whispered and bowed.

“Go in peace, my son. I will send word to my commanding officer to free you and let you live your life in peace.” He blessed him and watched him back away with a smile.

When they left the audience chamber, one of the servants ran after them and took greybeard off to one side to whisper in his ear and present him a scroll. They boarded their carriage and set off for the knights’ headquarters. A few people waved to them while shopping in the market. Greybeard couldn’t wait to be told what the scroll contained. “Do you know what this says,” he said, holding up the scroll.

“I have an idea, but the holy father did not share that with me.”

“You talked to him for quite a time, and I saw him smile at you many times. You must have pleased him.” Then after a pause, “did he ask you to provide us with your formula?”

Niccolo turned his head to look at the crowd emerging from a church, unsure what to say. “We did talk about my formula,” he said, “but he did not come to a conclusion.”

“You should be a politician,” said greybeard when the carriage stopped. He left the carriage first and helped Niccolo leave the carriage and walk with him down the hall to deliver the scroll to the commanding officer. “How did it go?”

“Everything went smoothly. In fact, the Pope smiled at Niccolo quite often during the time they talked and blessed him when Niccolo took his leave.”

The commanding officer smiled as he took the scroll and unsealed it. He read it with growing dismay on his face. He passed the scroll to greybeard, who also nodded with sadness in his eyes.

“Do you know what it says?” said the commanding officer.

Niccolo shook his head and could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

“It says you are given leave to set up a lab outside Roma and conduct other experiments on your own and report back to him after three years. He also commands us to give you ten gold florins to finance your experiments.”

He paused to look Niccolo straight in the eye. “Did the Holy Father ask you about your formula?”

“He did but did not conclude whether I should share my formula with you or anyone else.”

The commanding officer nodded and wished him good luck. The news reached the ears of the other knights an hour later, and they crowded around him to beg him to share his formula with them.

“I have only one reservation,” said greybeard as they had breakfast. “I’m concerned that some other power might discover where you’ve set up for the laboratory. His Holiness has forbidden us to follow or bother you until the end of three years. Be careful about showing any gold. If I were

you, I would find a money changer and have the gold florins exchanged for copper and silver coins.”

Greybeard found a horse for him, and they rode together to the edge of Roma, where he headed down the road south as far away from Venice and Ferrara as he could. The day was warm, and flowers grew everywhere as he rode down an old Roman road. Shade trees lined each side of the road planted when Roman soldiers marched along the road. He arrived in a small town early in the afternoon, where he decided to eat and rest before moving on. He reached a small eatery, where he ordered spaghetti and bread. The young woman waiting on him reminded him of Serena, and he wondered if she were still waiting table at the tavern or married and with a child on the way.

Flies buzzed above him as he dipped his fork into the spaghetti. The cook, an older woman with greying hair and a long fat face, watched him from the kitchen. That’s when he remembered greybeard’s parting words about changing his florins into copper and silver coins. He felt in his pocket and found three copper coins. When he finished eating, the young woman sat down beside him.

“You are a stranger. We don’t get strangers in our tavern very often. Your accent is different as well.”

Niccolo scanned her face, wondering what she wanted. “I’m from Venice, looking for my uncle. I heard he was living in this part of Italia. My mother died recently. She urged me to see out my uncle and live with him. I don’t have much money.”

The young woman seemed to lose interest and glanced at her mother in the kitchen. She shook her head and was ready to leave when she turned. “If you need a place to sleep tonight, our rooms are available at one copper.”

Niccolo smiled and reached into his pocket for his coins. He opened his hand and four copper coins. “That is all the money I have left. do your rooms come with breakfast and a stable for my horse.” He paused to see her reaction and saw her nod faintly to her mother.

After lunch, she led him upstairs and showed him the room. It was small, barely big enough for a small closet and a cot. She held out her hand, and he placed a copper in it. “I ‘ll look in on you later in case you need something.”

Niccolo nodded and undressed and slid into the bed. He was tired after rising so early at the barracks. He went to sleep within a minute or two. He hadn’t realized he was tired and woke just before the evening meal. He dressed and went downstairs to the tavern, where he ordered supper.

The young woman took his order and was in a hurry to greet newcomers. A group of knights arrived and sat at the table next to him. They ordered wine, grappa, and a heavy meal that included beef and chicken. The whole five of them were overweight and spoiling for a fight. The tallest, a German whose blond hair and bright blue eyes, grabbed the young woman as he passed their table and made her sit on his lap. She squirmed and slapped his face. He hit her back.

One of the other diners stood and grabbed her from the knight. “You and your kind are not welcome here. Please leave without a fight.”

The knight stood and grabbed him by his shirt. One of the other knights held him and made him sit down. “We came here to eat. Not fight. Now eat, and let us leave while everyone is happy.”

The tall knight withdrew his arm and sat down as the other knights crowded around and slapped him on the back. He brooded the rest of the time and barely touched his meal. He glanced at Niccolo. “What are you looking at?”

“I was admiring your armour. I see it’s changed since I was a knight.”

The knight next to him smiled and waved to him. “Why aren’t you still with us?”

I promised my mother, before she died, that I would resume painting. I’m looking for a place where I can paint in peace. I like nature and the saints and try to paint them both together.”

The knight nodded and went back to eating.

Just as Niccolo was mopping up his plate, the man who had challenged the knight sat down next to him. “You’re new to these parts, and thank you for not interfering. I am the signorina’s father. If the Pope knew how his knights behaved, he would get rid of them all. Most of them aren’t even Italians.”

The tavern had only a dozen tables and no windows. Candles burned along all the walls and at all the tables, and its wood floor dipped here and there. It felt warm and cozy, with a feeling of peace in the air.

It was dark by the time Niccolo went to bed. There was a knock at the door before the young woman entered to make up his bed. “Sorry you had to see this,” she said in a soft voice. She lit another candle for him and finished making his bed before leaving with a smile.

Niccolo woke. In the darkness, he heard someone fiddling with the doorknob in his room. The door opened a crack, and Niccolo slammed it back. He heard footsteps running away and opened the door to see someone run down the stairs before everything went black.

When Niccolo woke, he was in his bed, and the young woman was

using a white cloth to wipe away the blood from his hair. “You’ve been attacked by two men who ran downstairs and left in a big hurry. My father thought something was up and found you on the floor and called me to help him get you to bed. Her father sat on the end of the bed and watched his daughter wrap a bandage around his head. “You can stay another night without charge if you don’t feel up to leaving.”

Niccolo had a hard time getting back to sleep. He thought of dressing and leaving but thought better of it. For all he knew, they might still be waiting for him or some other luckless traveller. It was a good lesson about travelling at night.

He finally got to sleep around dawn and slept in until noon. He went down, where the young woman’s mother had kept his breakfast warm for him. He ate and was on his way again an hour later.

He rode into another town, spotted a bank at the end of the main street, tied his horse, and entered. He went to a wicket and asked to have eight of his florins exchanged for copper and silver coins. He kept one gold florin in each of his shoes in case of emergencies. The young man at the wicket consulted an older man at a desk behind him. There was only one wicket, enclosed in a wall that ran the length of the entrance.

The older man rose and came to the wicket. “May I ask how you came to have these coins?” He had a long arched nose, wore his white hair to one side, and talked in a halting manner.

“I was on assignment for the army for more than a year and cashed out when I decided not to live in Roma anymore.” He was getting good at telling lies but still felt guilty every time he did. “I wanted to be away from all the fighting. I’ve had enough and am looking for a place to sink my roots.”

The older man carefully counted the copper and silver coins twice to make sure he was accurate. Niccolo left with a larger bag of cash and stuffed them into his clothing bag. It had turned cooler as he mounted his horse and headed out of town. He snapped the reins and went on the road at a brisk trot to the next village, where he would turn West.

It was getting dark when he reached the fork in the road. There was no sign of a village or town, and he picked up his pace, hoping to see the outskirts of a town around the next corner. He was in no mood to sleep in the open and decided to ride all night before finding a place to sleep and eat. He rubbed the ears of his horse and whispered into its ear.

He passed several farms and was tempted to knock on their door and seek shelter but decided it would only scare the people there. He talked to his horse again and rode on. Dawn broke unexpectedly, and with it the spire of a church, he slowed down and reached the town’s only hotel in

time for breakfast. He tied his horse and went inside with his bag.

He went to the lobby desk, where a young man was talking to an older man and woman who smiled and nodded to him. The lobby was large and had several chairs for guests and a fish tank with strange small fish. The restaurant was just off the lobby. A dark blue carpet with pastoral scenes knit into it covered the entire floor.

“I would like a room for tonight. I’ve been travelling all night, and my horse and I are dead tired. I want my horse looked after in your stable and fed.”

“Certainly. I will see to it directly. But before then, please sign in.” Niccolo decided not to sign in with his name and instead wrote in Piero’s name.

The lobby clerk pressed a bell, and a young man took his bag. “Follow me.”

His room was on the second floor. There were lace curtains on the windows that looked down at the street and lit the room with brilliant light every morning. The young man carrying his bag opened the door and showed him the washroom and bed before tossing Niccolo’s bag onto the bed.

When the young man left, he took off his clothes and went to sleep in seconds, waking in the afternoon and feeling incredibly hungry. He entered the washroom with a sink and a place to heat water. All he had to do was light a candle below a pot containing cold water. He looked for the firesteel box and found it in a cabinet with a mirror above the sink. He lit the candle and waited for it to warm the water. He clipped his beard and washed in a tub heated with the water from the sink. He had never known such luxury before and wondered how much all this would cost.

Niccolo dressed, went down to the lobby, and entered the dining room. He was the first one. He was seated at a table with a white tablecloth, and a waiter took his order after checking their menu. They had several dishes he had not seen before, and he ordered them. A young woman with a violin played music he had never heard before, and he closed his eyes as he listened.

When he left, he went straight to the stable and checked on his horse. A stall hand was feeding and talking to him. Niccolo left feeling happy about everything. He would remember this place and decided to find a small village not far away where he could start his experiments. He went to bed early and felt good about himself and his life for the first time.

In the morning, he went straight for breakfast and settled his bill before leading his horse out of his stall. A few minutes later, he was on his

way again. By noon, he had gone through two villages and talked to some of the people. The village was smaller than the others and had only a few houses. He was looking for a place where he could feel comfortable and safe. He found it just before supper time.

‘We don’t see many strangers come our way, and almost most of them never take the time to talk to us,” said an older man, rubbing down his horse. “Where are you from?”

“Venice. I’m a painter and looking for a place where I can paint in peace.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place. We mind our business here and would welcome someone new to share our life.” Then, after a pause, “if you’re looking for a place to live, old Paolo has an old chicken coop he would gladly rent. You’d need to fix it up though. When you’ve finished, I’d be pleased to introduce you to Paolo. He doesn’t live far from here. My name is Enrico. What is yours?”

“Niccolo.”

Niccolo followed Enrico on horseback. Paolo’s farm was only a few minutes away off a dirt road, where they tied their horses. Enrico could see Paolo moving back the curtain to see who had come. Paolo was playing with his grandchildren in the kitchen and waved them inside. “I see you’ve come with a stranger.”

“He’s a painter looking for someplace quiet where he could paint in peace. I told him you might want to rent out your old hen house.”

Paolo stroked his grey beard, waved away his grandchildren and invited them to sit at his kitchen table. His face had deep wrinkles, and his eyes were a deep blue. Niccolo sat and watched as Paolo reached for a wine bottle at the centre of the table. He poured them all a large glass without asking. “I might offer it at a good rate. How long would you be using it?”

“That’s hard to say. At least a year or even longer.”

“If it’s for a year, I’d need six copper coins in advance.”

Niccolo reached into his pocket, brought out seven or eight copper coins, and counted them to him, one at a time. Paolo glanced at them and pocketed them. “The place needs to be cleaned and set up the way you’d like it. For another copper, my son could do that for you. In the meantime, where do you plan to stay?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” said Niccolo.

“Stay here until your place is fixed. Can you afford another copper? It will also include meals.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” said Niccolo with a smile. “I’d pay that much at a hotel for one night’s lodging.” He reached into his pocket again

and found another copper. “When can I move in?”

“Right now, if you have a mind.”

“My horse also needs looking after.”

“My son lives next door to me and has a barn. He will look after him. If you get him to fix up the coop, he’d be glad to look after him.” He then paused and poured them a glass of grappa. “I like to seal my deals with a grappa toast.”

They toasted and down it in one gulp. Niccolo, who had a hard time drinking grappa, started coughing. They both patted him on the back and laughed. Paolo rose and called for his wife. She appeared at the door a few seconds later. “This is my good wife, Tommasa. We have been married for more than 40 years. She is also the best cook in the village.”

Tommasa blushed and covered her mouth when she smiled. She had black hair and hardly a wrinkle. The fingers in her right hand were stiff from arthritis, and she had a soft voice.

Paolo poured her a glass of wine, which she sipped slowly. “Niccolo will be residing with us until Daniele fixes the old chicken coop for him and takes his meals with us.”

Tommasa nodded and blushed again. Niccolo stood, feeling a bit tipsy. “I must get my bag from my horse. “

Paolo pushed him down. “My youngest son, Enrico, will do that for you while I take your horse to my son’s barn.”

Enrico returned first and poured another glass of wine for them. When Paolo returned, Enrico raised his glass and toasted, “Niccolo, our new friend.”

Tommasa showed him upstairs to his room. “You can sleep in my son’s old room,” she said, throwing his bag on the bed. “I will have supper ready for us in another hour or so,” she said, closing the door behind her. He opened his bag and looked around to find a place to stash away his coins. He felt they would be safe there, even in plain sight. He lay down and closed his eyes and opened them at a knock at his door. It was a young man who resembled his mother. He held out his hand to him. “My name is Daniele. I hear you need my help.”

They shook hands, and Daniele put his arm around him as he led him downstairs.

“I see you’ve met,” said Paolo. “Daniele can start work on the chicken coop if you have a mind.”

“There’s no rush. I’ve been travelling for a few days and need to rest for a day or two.” He sat down opposite Daniele so that he could see Daniel’s face. “I believe we will need some lumber for what I have in mind.

Perhaps tomorrow afternoon, if you have the time, I could draw it out for you.”

“Talk later, you two. The time for eating is now,” said Paolo. Tommasa had heaped his plate with spaghetti and chicken while Paolo poured them all a glass of wine. He passed a tray of bread to Niccolo, who dipped it into the olive oil before trying the spaghetti. He took a mouthful and grinned at Tommasa.

Daniele was slim and wiry, with jet-black hair half-combed most of the time. One of the teeth on his upper right was missing. His dark eyes took everything in a second, and he liked to smile. He always had a smile for everyone, especially his friends, who referred to him as someone hard to dislike.

When supper was over, Daniele took Niccolo to his farm and showed him where his horse was stalled. His horse was munching on hay and paid no attention to them. “You’ve made my father a very happy man. Ever since my sister left when she married, he’s been very unhappy. My sister leaves her children with us during the day and picks them up before supper.”

Daniele finished the makeover of the old hen coop in two weeks, using the roosts for birds to sit on near a small brook hidden among the trees. He made a cot for Niccolo and a table where he could eat. He also added a small cabinet to store his paints, brushes, and an artist’s easel. Niccolo drew it out for Daniele to follow on a piece of lumber.

“Are there any stores where I can buy paint brushes for artists and colours I can use in my painting?” Niccolo asked at supper a few days later.

Daniele looked at his father, who shrugged while refilling their glasses. “There may be a place in a town a few miles from here. It’s larger than our village, and it’s where my daughter goes to buy her clothes. I’m sure Daniele would be happy to take you there.”

‘I gather you’re not married, Niccolo. Is there a reason?

“Not at the moment. I was fond of a lady in Venice, but I am sure she is married to someone else by now.”

“You’re worse than that rascal of mine. Can you talk some sense in him? He’s been courting the neighbour’s daughter for almost five years and has shown no interest in tieing the knot. He looks up to you.”

His daughter, Novella, joined them to consult her mother about her children. “You haven’t met our friend, Niccolo,” said Tammara. Niccolo, this is my daughter. Novella. She’s never here when you are. She will be your friend forever if you know anything about styles.”

“Not much. Just what I saw when I was in Roma.”

“ You’re an artist. Can you draw her one of the styles you remember?”

“If you have some paper and a pen, I could draw it now.”

Tommasa searched among her things and could find no ink or even a homemade quill. “Black ashes can also work sometimes,” she said.

“Tell you what, Daniele is taking me to a place in a neighbouring town where I can buy some artist supplies. On our return, we will get all we need to draw any style.”

Novella and her husband and children appeared the next morning for breakfast. “Le’s all go and make a day of it,” said Tommasa. Paolo removed their old carriage from their barn, where he and his wife stored things they weren’t using. Tommasa, Novella, and her husband had all the cobwebs removed in a few minutes as Tommasa followed them with a bucket of sudsy water to wipe everything down. They were on their way minutes later, passing other farms, waving to men in the fields, and going through two villages before reaching their destination. Tommasa and Novella left them to visit the clothing shops. They dropped Paolo off at the food store, and Daniele and Niccolo searched around town for an artist supply store. They stopped four people who had no idea such a store existed before finding it without warning. It was located behind a major store that sold men’s clothes. They left their carriage on the road and walked to the entrance. They entered to find no one at the counter.

Daniele spotted a bell at the corner of the counter and pressed it to bring a young woman wiping her hands on her apron into the shop. She was attractive with the kind of face artists liked to paint. She stood at the counter and let them do the talking. “I understand you offer supplies for artists,” said Niccolo, quite taken by her thin face and shoulder-length chestnut hair. Her brown eyes smiled in return. She nodded. “What are you looking for in particular?”

“Oil colours, four brushes of varying in length and some blank canvasses. “Niccolo found it hard to get the words out for some reason.

She smiled back. “Any particular colours you have in mind?”

“I’m from Venice and left all my paints and canvasses there. What would you choose?”

She lifted her finger. “Excuse me. I’m boiling some colours now. Would you care to join me there?”

Niccolo followed her and could smell the magic scents the boiling colours made.

“My name is Piera. My brother and I operate this store. We don’t get many customers. Usually, they’re visitors like you. Where are you living?”

Niccolo looked at Daniele, who described his farm and where their farm was located. “Drop in on us at any time. Signore Niccolo occupies a small hut behind our farm. He likes the solitude for his painting.”

She took the pots off the iron stove and laid them outside to cool down. She then showed Niccolo several different size canvasses. He picked what he wanted and then looked at the brushes. He chose five different widths and placed them on the counter. A young man about Daniele’s age appeared in the doorway. “I thought I heard voices. My name is Matteo. I see you’ve already met my sister, Piera.”

“We joined her in your kitchen while she mixed up a bunch of colours,” said Niccolo.

“Speaking of which,” said Matteo, “let me see if they’ve cooled enough for us to pour into bottles for you. You should be able to see their true colours. Niccolo checked them all inside the store and outside in the sunshine. In the end, he chose nine. Daniele picked them up in both arms and placed them in the carriage before returning.

“My sister tells me you have a farm some distance from here. We would like to visit your farm if you are agreeable.” Daniele’s eyes danced. “If you come for lunch or supper, I’ll make sure you don’t leave on an empty stomach.”

“We also want to see where our artist friend does his paintings,” added Piera. “Matteo and I have been thinking about coming to the towns close to us and setting up a booth on market day.”

“By all means. In fact,” added Daniele, “we’ll make it a day of it. I know my parents would love to meet you. And my sister has grown crazy about the latest styles. She’ll hang on every word you say.”

They saw Niccolo and Daniele to their carriage and waved them goodbye until they were out of sight.

They picked up the others and made it home for a late supper.

“Piera is stunning, don’t you think, Niccolo?”

Niccolo didn’t offer a comment. But Tommasa jumped in almost immediately. “It would be wonderful if you thought she was, Daniele.”

“She and her brother asked about our farm, and I invited them to visit us and have supper with us. I hope you don’t mind.”

Tommasa glanced at Paolo and smiled. Paolo turned to Niccolo. “What is your impression? Do you think she may be interested in our Daniele?”

‘I’m not experienced in the ways of women, Paolo, and probably a poor judge.”

“Make a guess,” said Tommasa.

“Probably. Otherwise, her brother should not have invited them to

visit us.”

Tommasa kept nodding as he talked and kept saying, “I hope, I hope,” under her breath.

Novella reminded him of his promise to draw pictures of the latest styles in Roma. Niccolo took a piece of Arab paper and drew the two styles he saw women wearing on the streets. He finished them in ten minutes and let the ink dry before showing them to Tommasa and Novella. They added two more candles to the table and cleared the table, where she studied them for more than a half-hour.

Niccolo took a piece of Arab paper and sketched his mother’s face. It wasn’t quite right somehow, and he studied it for almost an hour before finding what it was. He made her cheeks just a bit bigger than they were. It took him four more tries before he got it the way she looked the last time he had seen her.

Niccolo then set up the easel Daniele had constructed for him, stretched out a mid-sized canvass, and nailed it to the frame. He would sketch her face first, looking down at his final rendering with every stroke of his quill. He stood back and studied it, deciding what colours to start with. At lunchtime, he found himself hungry and left to return to the farm. Tommasa had seen him coming from the kitchen window. He sat down opposite Paolo, who poured him a glass of wine.

“I see in your face that all went well this morning,” he said, shoving a glass next to his plate. Niccolo looked around the kitchen, seeing it in the eyes of an artist – the fireplace and its spit and the masonry that kept all the rocks in place, and the large window on the back wall. He turned to look at the sink and the pail of water sitting next to the sink. To his left, a doorway covered with two large drapes that quivered every time Tommasa rose to get something from the sink.

He ate with his mind on the painting. His mother always wanted him to paint pictures of the saints. Daniele arrived a short time later and talked to him about painting and something he could learn.

“For great painters, it is a gift. I fear that it must be nothing more than a hobby for people like me.”

Tommasa rubbed his head. “You give up too easily.”

When he returned to his hut, he lay down on his cot and closed his eyes to imagine what he saw. What was behind her? How did her eyes look when she saw him last? He fell asleep and woke up an hour later. He found the flowers that framed her head when she stood on the outside step watching him until he turned the corner to meet Piero. He had to master

that sadness if he did nothing else that day. Niccolo looked at all his colours to find two or three he could use to get that right shade of brown with a tear hiding in the corner of her eyes. He added a bit of white, but it made her eyes washed out. What colour would work? Maybe if he added a bit more brown? He was getting nowhere and got up and headed for the door. He locked it and walked with his head down to the farm.

Tommasa glanced at him. “What happened.”

“Yes, but I was a bit slow getting my initial sketches just right.”

“What are you drawing?” said Tommasa.

“A portrait of my mother. I miss her.”

“What is the problem?”

“I can’t get the sadness in her eyes just right.”

“Then paint her with joy in her eyes when she sees you again.”

He went to bed early. What Tommasa had said echoed and re-echoed in his head even when he was sleeping. He jumped out of bed, put on his clothes, ran to his hut, unlocked the door, and started mixing his paints. Breakfast would have to wait. He painted her lips open, her pupils larger, and her face a bit larger, showing her facial crease. He stood back and nodded, his heart thumping wildly. He painted the flowers around her head and the cross that hung from her throat. It was almost done, and he left the hut and ran all the way to the farm. Tommasa was still in the kitchen, and he grabbed her hand and ran with her all the way back to the hut.

“Close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say so.”

He got her to step back a couple of paces. “Now open them.”

Tommasa looked at it, speechless. “I can see her great love for you in her eyes,” she said after a minute or two. “I can also see that she misses you. That’s also there somehow as well. And you have the gift you talked about to Daniel and your great love for her.”

They both walked back in silence. Tommasa stopped as they reached the back door. “We will bring Paolo to see it after lunch. “If something happens to my Paolo, would you paint his picture now for me?’

He nodded and spent the morning shaving, washing, and changing his clothes. He had a feeling she would also tell Daniele and Novella about it as well. He was right. They were all seated at the kitchen table when Tommasa announced, “Signore Niccolo has painted his mother and is inviting us all to view it before we eat.”

Niccolo felt a little uneasy for some reason he couldn’t explain. He paused at the door when he unlocked it and asked them to enter with their eyes closed. He could see Paolo gasp when he opened his eyes. “Your mother is a very beautiful lady. But I see the joy in her eyes but sadness in

her smile.”

Novella moved close to the picture and kept shaking her head. Daniele nodded. “I understand now what you mean when you talked about the gift. You certainly have it.”

When they returned to the kitchen, while Tommasa filled their plates with spaghetti, Niccolo turned to Paolo. “I would like to paint a picture of you if you agree.”

The room suddenly went silent. Paolo didn’t respond but just looked at him with surprise. He found his voice finally. “Who would want to see this old face?”

“I think many people would. But my painting is not meant for other people. It is my present to you and your good wife for the kindness you all have shown me.”

Paulo was embarrassed. He didn’t know what to say next. The others answered for him with loud clapping. “It’s something your great-grandchildren can see when we talk about you,” said Tommasa with a satisfied smile.

“We didn’t realize you were such a great painter,” said Daniele. “I suspect Piera and her brother will be surprised when they see your paintings. They know a lot about painting. They will probably recommend you to all their friends. And before long, you will be famous.”

“I’d rather they didn’t. I promised my good mother I would devote my work to painting the saints. I plan to go to Tuscano when I leave here to paint San Francesco, whom I admire enormously. He is dead now, but I hope to find paintings of him in Assisi that will give me an idea of what he was like as a man.”

Tommasa crossed herself and smiled. Niccolo saw her move her lips and knew it was a prayer to St. Francis.

“Piera and her brother will visit us in the next day or two. They will first stop at each village to tell people at their markets about their shop and what they offer.” Daniele was out of breath. Niccolo knew that part of their reason for coming to see them was to look at his paintings. He suspected they would turn up their noses in a polite way and spend most of their time with Daniele and his family.

They arrived three days later. It was near lunchtime, and Tommasa asked Daniele to tell Niccolo that their guests had arrived. Piera did most of the talking. Tommasa made a point of always agreeing with her. Her brother walked around the farm and asked at least 100 questions about

their crops and their cattle. He cleaned off his shoes at the door from his tour of the barn.

“She’s as pretty as ever,” said Daniele as they walked to the back door.

“So this is the great artist these good people are telling me about. Both Matteo and I had a hunch about you. We both would like to see what you’ve done so far.”

Tommasa had a worried look as she saw Daniele escort them to Niccolo’s hut. There was little talk until Piera spotted the cabin and the creek among the trees behind it. “He has chosen his place wisely. The whole area is alive with suggestions for any painter.”

Niccolo opened the door as soon as he saw them coming. He knew they had come to see his paintings and lit three more candles to provide more light for them to see them. He was curious about what they would think. Piera entered first and went straight to the painting of his mother. “Who is this lovely woman?”

“My mother.”

Matteo moved closer to check Niccolo’s brush strokes and studied it for a few minutes before turning away. “That is a remarkable piece of work. We would be pleased to offer it for sale at our shop. We charge a ten per cent commission.”

“This painting is not for sale. It is of my mother as she looked when I left her for Ferrara. I miss her greatly.”

Matteo offered him an understanding nod. “Perhaps some other painting. We could come again a few weeks from now and see how your work progresses.” He looked at the door. “Daniele and I will see the rest of his family’s farm. I wish we had one just like it.”

Piera nodded. “I’ll recommend a few paintings around his cabin that might sell. You two finish your tour.” After they left, she sat down next to him. “Do you do portraits other than your mother?”

Niccolo felt uncomfortable and stood.

“I won’t bite.” She paused, not sure if she should ask him. “I would like you to do a portrait of me. I would like you to paint me as a nude, sitting under one of the shade trees around your cabin.”

Niccolo could feel his cheeks burn. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Instead, he shook his head. “I promised my mother I would focus on portraits of saints. I have never painted a nude person, and I would not be sure I could do you justice.”

“I’ll take a chance.”

“You are a beautiful woman, but I cannot paint you nude. If you would like me to paint your portrait, I would do so to please my friend, Daniele.”

There was fire in her eyes. “You’re a hypocrite. I can see on your face that you are aching to see my body. You’re no different from the other artists who want to paint me.”

She stood and went to the door. Her face hardened. “I’ll think about it.” She turned and slammed the door behind her. Niccolo saw her walking quickly towards the kitchen and disappearing inside. He decided never to mention her request to Paolo, Tommasa or Daniele. Instead, Niccolo went back to sketching Paolo’s face. It, too, was eluding him, and he kept at it until he captured his face when he was pouring wine for everyone.

When the light was fading, he trudged back to the kitchen. Everyone clapped when he opened the door.”We were just about to send Daniele after you.”

“I was working on a sketch of Paolo’s face. I will do another once we’ve finished our meal.”

Piera grabbed the sketches and studied them for a few seconds before returning them to Niccolo without comment. Tommasa was about to say something but looked away. Matteo also sensed the change in atmosphere and patted Piera on the shoulder. “It’s getting late, and we should be going.”

Daniele saw them in their carriage and waved goodbye after inviting them to visit him and his family for the tenth time. He could see Matteo and Piera arguing and breaking into tears before they disappeared.

“Don’t you think she’s lovely,” Daniele said when he returned to the table.

Tommasa didn’t comment and rose to fill everyone’s glass with water. Novella, who was sitting next to Daniele, leaned forward. “Did you see what she was wearing? And her ability to articulate her feelings is incredible.” She put her hand on Daniele’s shoulder and smiled.

Niccolo could hear Tommasa and Paolo arguing in the kitchen from his upstairs bedroom. He heard Piera’s name a few times before he went back to sleep. He dreamed about Serena again. She was asking him to paint her portrait before being pulled away by Piera. Serena began to cry while his mother comforted her and took her into their home. He woke in a sweat. It was so real, and he could almost reach out and touch them. He had a hard time getting back to sleep and missed breakfast.

“You must have had a bad night. I hope it wasn’t over that silly woman Daniele seems fascinated with. I would like to see him married but not just with her.” She poured some ice-cold water into his glass – Niccolo

loved ice-cold water – even over wine. “You seem like a man of the world. What would you suggest?” She brought him some fried eggs and fresh-cut bread. She added some jam to his bread and sat down next to him.

“Piera is a beautiful lady, but she is self-centred. Her only concern is what she wants and pity for the poor soul who prevents her from getting it. Daniele would only become her servant. And he does not deserve that.”

“Can you talk to him?”

“I can, but only after we have not seen Piera for some time. Right now, his mind is fixated on her.”

It weighed heavily on his mind when he walked back to the cabin. He didn’t feel much like painting, but he also knew it would be the only way to get his mind off her. He thought about Piero and wished he could get his advice. He would know how to deal with her.

He sketched Paolo’s face three more times before achieving a likeness he felt good about and set about placing Paolo in the barnyard and then painting his hair and eyes. He would leave his face to the end. It was always the trickiest part of the process. It was getting dark before he realized it was time to quit. He took off his smock, laid it on the easel, and locked the door. Two crows stood in his path and flew away only when he stepped away from them. It was a bad omen.

At supper, no one talked. Daniele ate without once looking up at his parents or Niccolo. Paolo, who poured each of them a small glass of grappa, stood and offered a toast. “To a prosperous year and great joy in this house for the next 12 months.”

Tommasa and Niccolo raised their glasses and repeated Paolo’s words.

It worsened over the next few days when Daniele started eating alone or just not showing up. Tommasa kept asking Niccolo when he planned to talk to Daniele, and he gave her the same reply – he was not ready yet.

The opportunity came two weeks later when Niccolo went to his cabin to start painting. He had finished his portrait of Paolo and was working on how he imagined St. Peter must have looked in his later years. When he reached the door, he saw that the lock had been smashed and that his easel lay on the floor. Whoever entered also slit the painting of his mother into shreds. For the first time in years, he sat down and cried. Why would someone do something like this? He looked at his other paintings – the brook, the shadow of the trees in the late afternoon – all sliced by someone with a vengeance in his heart.

He didn’t hear Daniele open the door and enter. He took in the slashed

paintings and the disarray in a glance. He put his hand on Niccolo’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to see this. Whoever did this has a mean streak. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing.”

“No one knew about my cabin or what I did hear except for your family.”

“You’re forgetting Piera and Matteo.”

Niccolo didn’t respond.

“Surely you’re not suggesting Piera or Matteo is responsible for this.”

Niccolo looked at him. “It most certainly not done by your mother or father.”

Daniele looked as though he was about to cry. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“Piera asked me to paint her a certain way, and I refused. I explained that this was not my type of painting and that I was born to do paintings of the saints. I want to leave it at that.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

Niccolo shrugged and looked as though he was about to cry. “But the painting of my mother. She knew that would hurt the most.”

They returned to the farm. She could see the sadness in their lives and that Niccolo had talked to him about Piera. And something more. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone broke into the cabin and slashed Niccolo’s paintings.”

Tommasa shook her head and had to hide her tears in her apron. “Who would have done such a thing?”

“We think Piera did it. She wanted Niccolo to do a painting of her in a certain way, and he refused.”

Tommasa caught Niccolo’s eye. “I’m sorry this happened to you. How can we make it up to you?”

“I have only one wish that no one in your good family will have anything to do with her or her brother. They are not good people.”

“I wish we had never met them,” Daniele blurted.

***

Niccolo knew it was time for him to go. The episode in his cabin would eventually get out, and that people would start talking about it. And if someone were trying to track him down, they would hear about this. He had to decide where to go. His best bet was North. Perhaps make his way into the Republic of Florence. No one would know him there, and he could melt into the crowd. If only he had Piero there to advise him.

Two days later, he announced that he would be moving on. He ex-

plained that he had invented a powerful weapon for war and that many republics, even the Papal Estates, were looking for him and forced him to tell them how to create his weapon.

“I’m not sure about what you’re talking about. Niccolo, I’m just an ignorant farmer. But I’m smart enough to know a good man when I see one. You’re secret will always be treated with respect in this family.”

“The story about someone breaking into the cabin a defacing my paintings is bound to leak out. And the people who are hunting me down will certainly hear about it.”

“When we were at the village market last week, we heard someone talking about it there,” said Tommasa. “You have our blessing.”

“We owe you a refund for the money you advanced to us,’ said Paolo, who rose and returned with a small bag and counted out four coppers. “I reckon we owe you that.”

Niccolo pushed the coppers back. “Keep them in memory of me.”

The next morning, he and Danielle readied his horse and packed his bags, including his brushes and paint bottles. Tommasa came out with a bag to attach to his saddle, containing bread, chicken, cheese, and sweets. “Here,” said Paolo, “this is my water bottle, filled with grappa. Remember us every time you take a swallow.”

“One thing, should someone come looking for me, please tell them you know no one with my name. Except for one person. My boyhood friend. His name is Piero.

Niccolo was ready to cry as he edged his horse out of the barnyard and onto the dirt road that led him to the crossroad that would take him North. It was still dark as he passed through the two villages. He snapped his reins, and his horse responded by picking up its pace. Nicolo passed through the town where Piera and her brother lived just as dawn was breaking. He passed through a thick forest and stopped to give his horse time to rest, drink water at a small creek and eat grass along the roadside.

He could hear the sounds of someone on horseback heading their way at a furious gallop. Niccolo mounted his horse and edged him into the forest. A minute later, he saw the rider, a knight of the Papal Estates, pass him by.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Their ship edged its way to the pier. One of the deckhands jumped from the ship’s side onto the dock and tied the rope to the pier. “We’ll be leaving you here, Piero,” said Foscari. “I’ll make sure the Prince knows you’ve landed safe and sound at Pescara, and you’re on your way to Roma.”

He shook hands and watched Piero walk down the gangplank and disappear into the crowd. “You and you and you,” he said, pointing to three of the deckhands,” come with me. I’ll need you to help me bring back all the food we’ll need before we raise landfall again.”

They found Pescara’s largest market a few streets close by. “You all know what we need for our voyage back to Ferrara. Find what you think everyone will like, and let me know when you’re ready to return to our ship.”

He looked around, hoping to find Niccolo ready to return to Ferrara. Piero had already disappeared, and somehow, he felt empty inside.

Piero instinctively knew he would not find Niccolo there and found a coach heading for Roma. The dirt road was bumpy and muddy. At times, he and the others had to leave the coach and help raise it out of the mud or when it had to climb a steep hill. There were four other passengers. Two men about his age and a woman and her teenage daughter. They both were dressed in black and wore veils. They took their meals by themselves, usually outside, where they would sit in the grass and wipe their hands after each bite of the bread and cheese they had brought. One of the men offered them some wine but were ignored. When it came time to reboard, the driver helped them inside, and they closed their eyes, pretending they were sleeping.

The day was hot and muggy. The coach was old and shabby. The paint had peeled off the doors, and the walls, also painted black, were plastered

with ads for different hotels in Roma. The back wheel fell off at one stop as they went through deep mud. The men had to lift the coach while the driver placed the wheel on its axle and screwed it tightly before they returned to their seats. Later, when the coach reached a smoother hard road, the air suddenly became very dry, and sand blew inside the coach along with a few bugs. The women made a face and tried their best to slap the bugs away.

“At least we’re inside should it rain,” said one of the men, an older man, who wore a dark brown doublet with matching light brown breeches and with shoes with pointed toes. The other man, in his late 20s, with dark curly hair, smiled at the woman’s daughter every chance he got. Occasionally, he received one back.

The coach stopped near dusk at an inn. It was packed with other travellers, and Piero found himself sleeping in the same bed with the two other men. The older man sniffed the air. “If you can’t see the fleas, you can certainly smell them. The woman and her daughter slept in the same room in a different bed with two other women. Piero could hear them whisper to each other when the last candle went out. He smiled and hoped that morning would come soon. He had trouble getting to sleep. The old man was snorting and coughing in his sleep and occasionally talking to himself. The air soon became heavy with the smell of bad breath. Piero pulled the covers over his head and finally went to sleep.

The driver woke everyone up as soon as it was light, and they lined up to wash and get ready for breakfast. Piero sat down next to the woman wearing perfume and helped her fill a plate of eggs and cheese for her and her daughter. A stack of bread stood on a long table where everyone sat. Some had not bothered to wash and smell. The room was small, with unpainted floorboards and lit from three small windows. The older man stood and opened the window behind him to let in the fresh air. The fireplace was at the other end of the room, where a woman with long dark hair that kept falling over her face cooked eggs and boiled water for them to drink.

Piero was the first to finish and go outside. The air was fresh with the sweet scent of newly cut grass and wild roses. A street vendor selling wine almost bumped into him and offered him a glass. He finished it in less than a minute in time to see the older man and his friend emerge, followed by the woman and her daughter. The driver was already seated above. Piero opened the door for them and let the others take their seats. He climbed up into the driver’s seat. The horses moved out slowly onto the road and began to pick up speed.

“When will we come to Roma?” Piero said.

“Before lunch tomorrow.” The driver was chewing something dark, and occasionally he would spit it out over the side of the carriage. They passed one small village after another and into a town a couple of hours later. The driver stopped the coach in front of an inn. The yard boy ran up and held the reins until the driver descended. The driver then opened the door and helped the others down before leading them inside.

The door was wide and opened into a large lobby room. A dining room door was open, and they entered to find a large number of tables where several people were already eating lunch. The waiter met them at the door and escorted them to a table that could handle them all. It was cool and dark inside, and the driver ordered a beer for himself and his passengers.

“What’s for lunch,” said the woman.

“Roast pork, just off the spit. It’s hot and spiced just to your liking.” The waiter was a young woman who smiled at everyone. Her brown hair was braided and hung around her oval face.

“That’s for me,” said the old man.

A group of knights entered and sat down at two tables next to them. They ordered beers and roast pork as well. Greybeard, who led the group, leaned back and tapped the diver’s back. “We’re tracking down a young man who’s wanted for the murder of a priest. His name is Niccolo Billini. Let us know immediately if you see someone travelling by himself on the road, whether in this district or elsewhere.” He scanned their faces. “I forgot to mention, there’s a reward of 1,000 gold florins for anyone who helps us track him down.”

Their driver leaned towards the others. “Let me know if you see someone walking or on horseback along the road. I suggest that at least two of you join me at the top and watch what’s happening in front and back of us. The others can check out the road on each side. There’s a lot of money for all of us in this. So keep your eyes open.”

They went back to the coach an hour later. The old man and the woman stayed inside the coach, with the old man checking the left side while the woman had her daughter check the right side. “There are plenty of roads off this road on both sides. “We’ll stop the coach if we see someone on any of these roads,” said the old man, who suddenly looked weary.

The Prince nodded, and one of his servants went to the door of his audience chamber and escorted a middle-aged man to him. “Are you Alfonso Borso, also known for making people disappear?”

“I have many talents, Excellency.” Broso rubbed his black stubbled chin and nodded. He didn’t like to be introduced this way by anyone, including a prince, and his face hardened. He had heard the Prince was lame and that the Prince was very conscious about it.

The Prince looked him over carefully. He wasn’t pleased by what he saw. His doublet had food stains and bespoke of someone who liked to brush away food from his chin with the back of his arm. Someone who had no compunction about slitting someone’s neck and taking a mouthful of beer or wine in the next second. He didn’t like what he saw. But he would do.

“I need to execute one of my spies who has fled to Roma. I fear he could do me and d”Este irreparable harm. I need him silenced forever.” He threw a bag of 50 gold florins at him. “There will be 50 more once I have proof the job has been done.”

“I will not fail you, Prince.”

“One thing more. The next time you visit me, clean yourself up beforehand. My emissary will provide the individual’s name and likely whereabouts.

Broso nodded, bowed and walked away.

His emissary entered a few minutes later. “He has his instructions and leaves tonight for Roma.”

“I can see by your eyes you are not happy with my decision to have Niccolo murdered. I wasn’t either. I liked Niccolo very much. He had such goodness in him but was incredibly naïve, and I could not risk having the Papal Estates take advantage of his formula and invade us and other Italian republics. There would be no way to stop them from conquering all of Italy.”

“This man has no conscience and does not care whom he kills as long as he gets paid,” said his emissary.

“If you do not hear back from him in a month, you will go to Roma and seek him out or find out he was not able to track down Niccolo .”

The Doge of Genoa studied the letter from his spy at the Papal court. “It would appear that the Pope is still wavering about the famous inventor.

“His Holiness did not demand that the famous inventor, Niccolo Billini, turn over his formula to him. He had disappeared into the countryside, south of Roma, his whereabouts unknown until recently when someone defaced some of his paintings. We now hear that he has left that place and

disappeared completely. The Pope’s army is turning over every rock to find him.

“My hunch is that he either found a new place to hide out or had crossed our border, in which case, we should consider offering him the safety of Florence. That will not be easy. Other republics are already looking for him all over Italy.

“Should I hear more, I will ensure that you are apprised and can base what you think is best for Florence at that time.”

He passed it to his confidant, a member of a rich banking family, who scanned the letter and passed it back to him. “I would alert every border crossing with orders to take him into custody and send him under guard to Florence, where your excellency can examine him yourself.”

The Doge waved his chamberlain to join them. The Doge pulled at a rich red intrinsically woven chord, and a page came running with a dark brown wooden box with a slanted cover, a quill, and some ink.

“Take down this message: A famous Venetian inventor is fleeing the Papal Estates. He is to be accorded every amenity and sent under guard to us immediately. I want this message rushed immediately to all our border points.

Piero leaped off the coach as soon as they entered Roma. There was a cool breeze from the waterfront some distance away. He wrapped the corners of his doublet around his neck and carried his bag on his shoulders until he came to a tavern where the music was loud, and people often traded secrets. He entered, and a young woman with a low-cut lacy blouse and short chestnut-coloured hair caught his eye. She grabbed his arm. “I want you to enjoy a glass of wine with me,” she said, leading him to a nearby table. “My name is Tullia, an old Roman name. What’s yours?”

“Piero. I just got off the coach and saw this tavern. And I’m looking for company. I will need someone who knows Roma and can tell me what Romans are talking about these days.”

Tullia winked at him and ordered a bottle of wine. “That will be two coppers.” Piero reached into his pocket and withdrew a single copper.”

“I need another copper,” said the waiter.

“That’s all I have right now.”

Tullia reached inside her blouse and flipped the waiter a copper. They left after that. Tullia suggested they go to her room and relax before she took him on a tour. The room had only one candle, and the shades were drawn down. She used a mug to pour some wine to him. “If you would like to wash before we go out, I’ll heat some water for you.” She

turned as she was about to light the fireplace and smiled at him. “You are truly a handsome young man.”

When the water boiled, Tullia poured it into a basin and helped him remove his doublet and shirt. She ran her hand down the side of his arm and stood back. “Let me wash your back.” She dabbed a washcloth into the water and rubbed his back vigorously. “You have beautiful hair.”

Piero ignored her until she began washing his chest and neck. She rinsed his hair and let it fall curly in place before brushing it to the latest fashion. When she finished, she helped him dress and kissed him. “It’s time for that tour I promised you.”

“What would you like to see first?” she led the way down the stairs and held the door open for him. She then grabbed his arm, and they started walking along the street.

“Where the Pope holds court.”

“It’s quite a walk. I hope you don’t mind.”

They stopped two hours later for supper at an outdoor tavern. Piero let her do the ordering. Only a few others were sitting outside with them, and when a young man appeared with a violin, playing a dance tune, Tullia pulled him to his feet, and he stumbled along with her. She laughed and decided to finish their meal.

“Why do you want to see where the Pope meets with people?”

“A friend of mine met him, and I haven’t heard from him since. I fear he may be in trouble.”

“Someone else has disappeared as well. The knights are trying to track him down. The Pope wants to talk to him.”

That means that Niccolo was no longer in Roma, he thought. He left the area, and that could be in any direction.

“Some knights we met at lunch yesterday mentioned they were looking for someone. I didn’t know the Pope wanted to see him.”

Tullia smiled at him and took his arm. “We can do this tomorrow if you have a mind.”

Piero nodded and held her arm closer to him. They walked slowly back, and it was dark by the time they reached her room. She lit the only candle in the room, and they sat at her table. “Tullia, I must leave Roma tomorrow and search for my friend. We have known each other since we were boys. I will miss you.”

“No, you won’t. I’m going with you.” She raised her hand as he was about to speak. “I knew you were the one for me the moment I saw you enter the tavern.”

“It may be dangerous.”

“It’s better than crying after you and you are no longer here.”

He held her hand for almost an hour without speaking. “I have to tell you something that could change your mind. I have been sent here by the Prince of d”Este to find my friend and bring him back to Ferrara.

She just smiled at him and rubbed his hand.

Piero reached into his pocket and gave her a silver florin. “You need clothes to travel in. Let’s buy them now rather than in the morning.”

“That is too much money. And I can do without new clothes.” He withdrew his bag of coins and showed her a handful of golden florins.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Niccolo took several side roads before entering the main road North. He was hungry and hadn’t eaten in two days. He drank water from brooks and carried a bottle of water for emergencies. He knew that in every tavern he entered, someone there might know the knights were looking after him. His best bet was an outdoor market, which the knights would probably ignore.

He came in sight of a small town with a small outdoor market and waited until dusk, just as they were about to close, to take a chance and buy enough food to last him a couple more days. He had no idea how close he was to the border. Maybe he might find out at the market.

He waited until the evening meal when he mounted his horse and rode into the village. He stopped at the market and found enough cooked chicken to last him a couple of days. He added two loaves of bread, a jar of honey and some cheese and put everything in a single bag, which he carried to his horse. He took the main road out of town. It was getting dark, but he could still read the sign on the side of the road: Republic of Florence Border, 11 miles. He snapped the reins, and his horse picked up speed almost immediately. The road ran through tall, thick trees that seemed to go on forever. He slowed in the lengthening shadows of the trees and looked in front and back and on both sides of the road every few minutes. The

darkness unnerved him, and he found himself breathing hard until the treeline ended. He had to get control of himself. The last thing he needed now was to be captured and brought back to Roma.

He could see the border guards looking down the road. Darkness was falling, and he could barely make them out now. He slowed down his horse’s pace. About 100 yards from the post, he spurred his horse. It flew like the wind, and Niccolo prepared to jump the barrier that barred his entry. His horse‘s front legs hit the barrier, and it reared, throwing him off, and ran off in another direction before returning to nudge Niccolo, unconscious. The guards opened the barrier and picked him up while another guard took the reins of Niccolo’s horse and led him inside as well.

Borso took a boat from Ferrara to Pescara. He hadn’t changed his clothes for two weeks and knew he smelled. That would wait until they reached Pescara and found a room where he could wash and change his clothes. His ship lost a day when it was becalmed. The sea was flat, and seagulls wheeled in the sky, some even landing on deck close to him. The deckhands watched him, a bit afraid of him, feeling that he would kill if you suddenly walked in front of him. He occupied the mate’s cabin, and the cook dreaded knocking on his door and passing him his supper. Borso always took it without a word and slammed the door as soon as the cook left.

When they finally docked, he was the first one off the ship and never looked back, even for a brief wave to the crew. He had other things to do and someone to kill. He had to focus on that. But first of all, he needed to find a place where he could wash. He could smell himself now, and he felt itchy all over. He saw a two-storey hotel halfway down the street. He picked up his pace and entered. A young woman behind the check-in desk could smell him coming and used a piece of paper to wave in front of her. Borso paid for the room and climbed the stairs to his room with the key. He slammed the door behind him and found a firesteel to light one of the candles on the table next to his bed. He took off his clothes and found a sink in the room, off the bedroom and some soap. He took off all his clothes and washed his body all over. The water was cold, and he shivered. Next, he used his razor to trim his black beard. He put his clothes in a bucket of water and soap and rubbed them fiercely to get all the smell off. He found a shirt and breeches in his bag and donned them before opening the door and heading downstairs. The woman at the desk in the lobby could hear him coming and looked up.

“Two things. First, do you have a dining room and what time does it open? Second, Where can I buy a doublet and breeches?

The woman had light blue eyes and blond hair. Her thin face smiled at him for the first time. She noted that he now smelled like a man of the world and smiled at him again. “The dining room opens an hour from now, and if you are in the market for an expensive doublet, there’s a men’s clothes store around the corner. When you leave, turn right at the end of our building, and you’ll see it.”

He returned 30 minutes later and showed her the new shirt, with a frilly collar, his new dark doublet with a gold braid around the neck and cuffs, new gold breeches and flat shoes to suit.

Borso could sense that she was impressed. He tried to smile. “Would you like to join me for supper? We could go elsewhere if you wish.”

“I will go only if you take me to the dining room at the hotel two streets from us and if you wear your new doublet.”

“What time are you off?”

“In 15 minutes or so. I’ll meet you outside.”

He was about to turn when she stopped him. “My name is Nucca,” she yelled after him as he ran up the stairs. He unlocked the door and donned his new breeches and doublet. He looked at him in the mirror and used his razor to give his beard the desired look. He walked downstairs and saw that she was still at work. She looked up to see him smile as he walked past her desk and onto the street. She left the inn a few minutes later and greeted him with a smile. He took her arm as they crossed the street and walked down to the other hotel. He held the door open for her and followed her inside.

There had been a wedding there earlier, and the staff made way for them as they walked by them and into the dining room. Inside, the staff was taking down red and green streamers from the ceiling. The waiters were still picking up plates and putting them on small carts. They then wheeled through a swinging door and into their kitchen. Other waiters were changing tablecloths.

One of them spotted them and ran to where they were standing. “We’ll have a table for you in a few minutes. In the meantime, please enjoy a glass of wine. It’s our way of saying thank you.” She left and returned a minute later with two glasses of wine. She thanked them for waiting and returned a few minutes later to escort them to the table she had just set for them. Another waiter suddenly appeared from the swinging door and set down a basket of bread and a plate with olive oil.

Borso folded her hand in both of his before cutting a piece of bread,

dipping in the olive oil, and giving it to her. “You are a very beautiful woman, Nucca.”

He tried to open the button on his doublet but found it almost impossible. Nucca looked at him and reached across the table, and undid it for him. The dining room was already filling up, and two young men and a woman went to the stage near their table and started playing music. The men played violins, and the young woman played the harp. They started playing almost immediately. It was heavenly, and Nucca began to hum to the music. Her eyes glistened in the candlelight. Their waiter returned and served them the first course, roast beef with vegetables and a string of grapes around their plates.

When they left, they went for a stroll in a nearby park. They sat down on one of the benches below a lamp. Nucca took in the scent of blossoms and pushed back her hair. She rocked her head back and forth and began to hum some of the music they heard at the hotel. Borso bent and held her head in his hands and began kissing her. She struggled to free herself from his grasp. His hands tightened around her throat, and she tried to scream but could barely breathe. His grip tightened until she was no longer breathing. He withdrew his hands slowly in case she regained her breath. After a minute, he stood. He looked around, and they were still alone. A wind had picked up, and he examined her body and bench to make sure he had not left anything behind and walked slowly away in the opposite direction.

An hour later, he returned to the inn and entered to see the man at the check-in desk talking to someone about a room. He missed seeing Borso creep up the stairs. He walked down the corridor and stood before his door while he felt in his pocket for his key. It wasn’t there. He searched all his pockets. Nothing. His heart stopped. Borso missed seeing it in the light of the lamp.

He walked downstairs and stopped at the check-in desk to tell the older man checking over the registration book he was going out for a stroll and would be back soon. He raced down the street and found the park a few minutes later. He ran down the laneway and spotted the lamp and where he had left her body.

It was gone. Borso was sure he had killed her. He looked around. Maybe he had gone to the wrong bench. But no, the same scent of blossoms filled the air. His heart was pounding wildly now, and there was a sharp pain in his chest. He sat on the bench and spotted his key from under the bench where she had been sitting. It had slipped out of his pocket when he choked her. He bent on one knee and scooped it up with his hand. He put it in his pocket and walked quickly away, eager to get to the street before

anyone saw him emerge from the park.

Back at the inn, the man at the check-in desk stopped him. “A man was looking for you. I told him you had just left and would be back shortly. He decided not to wait and said he would return.”

“If he does return, tell him that I will be going directly to sleep and would be pleased to see him in the morning. And to leave his name for me.”

Borso packed his bag in the room and finished drying his old clothes when he left in the morning. He went to bed, tossed, and turned half the night before getting to sleep. The sun was already in the sky when Borso awoke, and he washed and dressed hurriedly, packed his bag and walked down the stairs. A new man was at the check-in desk when he checked out. “You’re new. There was a lady when I checked in yesterday.”

In his early 50s, the man had furrowed eyebrows and a thin face. He had a nervous tic in his right eye and did not smile during the entire transaction. “You’re talking about Nucco. She’s late this morning. I hope she gets here soon. I’ve been at the desk for only an hour, and I’m already tired.”

Borso picked up his bag and went outside to hail down a passing carriage. He climbed aboard and told the coachman he wanted to go to a hotel near the Lateran Palace. The driver nodded and turned his coach in the direction of the Tiber. It took almost an hour to see young boys on their way to school and young men and women walking briskly down the street. Ahead he could hear church bells and saw women being carried in sedan chairs. A squad of knights on horseback rode in the opposite direction. He felt tired suddenly and closed his eyes.

The coachman shook him when they arrived at a hotel near the Lateran. The lobby was filled with other people with large travel bags and drinking hot water as they waited for their coaches. Borso climbed down, paid the coachman, picked up his bag, and entered the hotel. A doorman opened the door for him, and he put on a smile as he approached the check-in desk.

The young man at the desk wore a scarlet uniform and looked at Borso’s clothes and his bag. “It’s payment on entry, I’m afraid, sir. How many days will you be staying?”

“Two days.”

“That will be ten coppers, sir.” Borso fished into his pocket and tossed him a silver Floren. The young man, who had almond-shaped black eyes and a goatee, reached into his money drawer and picked out several coins as change.

“Enjoy your stay with us, Signore Borso. Let us know if you need anything.”

Another young man grabbed his bag and escorted him to a room on the second floor, where he unlocked the room and pushed back the drapes covering a large window at the foot of a very wide bed. There was a large painting of the Lateran on the left wall and smaller paintings of Roman buildings. In the distance, he could see the Roman Forum, where the senate was located. He put Borso’s bag in the clothes closet and left without a word.

Borso went into a changing room to wash his hair and body to rid himself of Nucca’s perfume that clung to his doublet. He dressed slowly, returned to the lobby just before lunch, and entered the dining room, where a waiter dressed in a black doublet and breeches nodded as he entered. “A table for one, Signore?”

Borso liked being treated this way and understood what it was like to live at this level. He was seated close to the large windows that opened to a garden on the right side of the hotel. The waiter placed a napkin on his lap and offered him a menu. The dining room offered French food, and, for the first time, he noticed that the large green cushy carpet had scenes from France, including Paris.

“It’s eye-catching,” said his waiter, who stood by until Borso ordered. Borso nodded and went back to the menu. “What is this item?” said Borso.

The waiter bent down to see the menu and recommended three items: battered fish in a special sauce, sliced chicken breast covered with three different fruits in cold whipped cream, and fresh vegetables and greens picked that morning, covered with nuts and grapes.

“I gather that this is your first visit to Roma. We get a lot of cardinals on feast days and many titled people who come to consult the Pope.”

“I’m here to see my friend, Niccolo. He sent me word that he planned to leave Roma and find peace in the countryside. Do you know if he has left Roma yet?”

The waiter shrugged. “I do not know your friend, Niccolo, but I did hear two bishops talking about a Venetian called Niccolo. They were saying it was unfortunate he did not leave something special with the Pope. I also hear they are trying to seek him out in the countryside. Is that the same Niccolo you know?”

“No. He is just an old friend I knew when we were boys. Niccolo left word for me that he would be leaving for Roma and hoped I could join him here one day. I am here, and no Niccolo. He didn’t leave an address.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The first thing he had to do, Piero thought, was to get a carriage going West. He knew Niccolo enough to know he would go South after leaving West. He rose without waking Tullia and went into her washroom to get himself ready for the monotonous trip ahead. He used her firesteel to light a candle and began washing his body, face, and hair. He used the candle from the bathroom to light two more candles and placed them on her table. He left the bathroom just in time to see her sitting up and yawning with her arms far apart.

“I must get us something to eat,” she said as her feet touched the floor.

“Forget that. Get washed. We’ll be leaving here shortly, and we won’t be coming back.”

“What about my things?”

“Just your clothes. The rest, we can buy.” He slapped her behind and pushed her into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, she looked like a different woman. She packed her bag, and they descended to the street. Piero went onto the road and flagged a passing carriage. He helped her get aboard, threw her bag and then his into her lap before boarding himself. “To the coach place,” he shouted to the driver. About 30 minutes later, the carriage pulled up in front of the coach station. Piero flipped him a copper, picked up their bags, and entered the station.

“We’re on our honeymoon and want to stop at the largest town going West.” the station was very busy that morning. There was already a long lineup, and it took another 20 minutes before they could buy their tickets.

The man behind the wicket checked a long sheet of wrinkled Arab paper and calculated the fare. “Six coppers.” He was about to shout next but stopped.”That coach is about to leave any minute. Go and enjoy your-

selves.”

“So, you plan to marry me. What if I say no?”

He looked at her as they both started to laugh. They were the last to board the coach. All the seats were filled. “You’ll need to sit atop with me.” He took their bags and helped Tullia to the seat next to him. Piero grabbed a handle and hauled himself up. “Where are you folks going?”

“To the biggest town west of here. We’re on our honeymoon. That’s where she wants to go, and that’s where we’re going.”

“At the first stop, the other passengers will leave, and you two will have the coach to yourselves.” The coachman, in his early 50s, laughed. His grey hair was tousled and curly and hung over his forehead.

They stopped at noon for lunch. The man who sat next to them asked them where they were travelling. He wore an expensive black doublet with a gold braid on his cuffs and neck and talked with a Ferarra accent. Piero decided to keep his secrets to himself. ”We’re on our honeymoon.”

“Congratulations. My name is Alfonso Borso. I am here on business from Ferarra. Have you ever been to Ferarra?”

Piero shook his head. “What is it like?”

“Beautiful. It’s a place artists and musicians flock to. Our Prince is very generous to the gifted. I’m here on a mission for the Prince and see an old friend. He was an artist who left Ferarra for Roma some time ago. I thought I’d surprise him.”

Tullia poked Piero and smiled at him. “What kind of things did he paint?”

“He wanted to paint me, but I refused. Not with my face. It would scare a baby.”

They didn’t talk much after that when they all took their places on the coach. Piero decided to stay on the top. He had a feeling they both were looking for Niccolo. Something in his manner made him feel uncomfortable — something sinister and evil about it that made him keep his thoughts to himself.”

Later, when they stopped at an inn and had supper, Tullia looked at him. “What’s bothering you? Something is. I hope it’s not something I did.”

Piero shook his head. It’s that man we met at lunch, Borso. He’s up to no good. If I were a betting man, I’d say he’s here to harm my friend, Niccolo.”

Tullia found her bag, put on a nightdress, and watched him undress. “I think you see ghosts where none exist.”

When we reach our destination, we will see a priest about getting married.” “I wish you were right. He kept asking questions and revealing

things ordinary people do not.” He blew out the candle and put his arm around her.

Borso made a point at breakfast to seek them out. “Good luck to you both. I’m getting off here and see if anyone knows where my friend is.” Piero shook his hand and watched him pick up his travelling bag and walk down the street.

They reached their destination in the early afternoon. “Here’s where you two get off. Happy times for you both.” They had the coach to themselves and thanked the coachman. Piero left him with a copper, picked up their travelling bags, and watched the coach disappear around a turn in the road.

It was market day, and all the farmers in the area had set up stalls. Plucked chickens were hanging from a bar across their booth. Live chickens kept pecking at seeds in the pen alongside. Eggs dyed in various colours for the feast day filled up the counter. The farmer’s wife sat on a stool and kept nodding to people as they passed. There was also a honey stall near the end of the stalls, where young mothers crowded with their children. Next door was a bakery, where you could watch the farmer knead bread, put it in the oven, and take out rolls and bread from another oven. Tomatoes, freshly-cut beans, and long rows of lettuce fought for space at the next stall. Lamb and mutton were being butchered and cut up on a large chopping block. The noise of loud voices made it hard for them to hear each other.

They joined the crowd at the honey stall, ordered a large bottle of honey, and edged themselves to the bakery next door. They looked over an array of buns, bread, berry tarts, and bottles of golden custard. They settled on the buns and custard and looked for a stall that served cooked chicken, which they also bought. They also purchased a cloth bag to put everything in.

The next stall offered pies. You could smell them as they took them out of the oven. The woman spotted them, smelling the array of pies she had just baked. “We also offer slices if you’re hungry,” said the woman.

“We’ll take a whole one,” said Piero.

The woman talked to her husband, who took her place as she went back to rolling out more crust. “What kind would you like?”

“They’re all so good. If you were choosing your wife’s pies, which would you choose?”

The farmer pushed back his white hair and leaned towards them. “You have the same accent as a friend of ours. He came from Venice.”

“So do I. In fact, I understand he may be in these parts.”

“What is your name?”

“Piero. My friend’s name is Niccolo.”

“Where are you staying?”

“We haven’t found a place yet.”

“You’ll be staying with us. Meet us back here before closing and come to the back of our stall.”

He passed them his favourite pie and pointed to a row of tables, where they sell wine and honeyed water.”

They turned and headed to the tables at the other end of the stalls. “I gather they know your friend,” said Tulla, who grabbed the bag, picked up one of the rolls, and began eating it. Piero dipped his hand in and fished out a tart. His eyes widened when he tasted it. He passed the remainder to Tullia.

They reached the tables along with several other people and found the best one in the last row, close to the shade trees. Piero left her with the food and headed for the wine bar. “I’d like honeyed water,” Tullia shouted after him. He ordered two large jars and walked back slowly, careful not to spill them. She was talking to a family at the next table. “Here he is now,” she said as he neared their table. Piero gave her the jars and sat down. “This is my husband,” said Tullia. The man at the other table and his wife shook his hand. “I told them we’re on our honeymoon.”

Tullia shared some of the chicken with them, and the conversation turned to farming and the latest gossip before they left a few minutes later. He sat on the other side so that he could see her as they ate. Tullia poured honey over two buns and ate them without bothering to drink. Piero ate more chicken with the rolls and another tart, waiting for Tullia to finish the rolls. He then dug into the bag and put the pie on the table. He cut two large pieces for them.

Piero took his jar and put it to his mouth, seeing people behind Tullia beginning to leave. Shadows from the stalls had lengthened. That’s when he spotted Borso or someone who looked like him. “I see our friend from the coach has suddenly appeared. Don’t look or draw any attention to yourself. Borso walked around the market without bothering to check out the tables. It was drawing near six. Some stalls were closing, and some had closed. Piero saw Borso leave a few minutes later and wave for a coach that took him away from them.

They gathered up the rest of the pie, tarts, and honey, put all the crumbs and containers in a wooden box next to the tables, and made their way to the bakery stall. They went behind and stood in a small sheltered area until the farmer and his wife appeared.

They joined them a few minutes later, armed with unsold pies. They put the pies on a small stand and introduced themselves. “My name is Piero, and this is my soon-to-be–wife, Tullia. We hope to be married before we continue our journey.”

“You’re Niccolo’s friend,” said Tommasa.

Piero nodded. “We were boys together, and I came here to rescue him from the knights and bring him back to Ferarra. Tell me if you know where he is, I beg you.”

“He told us that he was heading North. He told us should you appear, we were to tell you this and no one else.”

Tullia helped Tommasa pick up the pies and carry them to their cart while Piero folded the wood frame and canvas for the stall and put them in the cart. Paolo went around, picked up anything left on the ground, and threw it into a large container behind them.

Paolo hitched up his horse to his wagon. He and Piero sat in front while Tullia and Tommasa looked after the pies in the back. “My farm is only a few miles from here,” said Paolo as their cart moved out onto the road. We all liked Niccolo. He turned my old hen house into a place where he could paint. “

He even drew a picture of me,” said Paolo.

“He also painted one of my mother. This was when we were teens. My mother still has it. I hope you’ve kept yours.”

Paolo nodded. “It’s our prized possession. His other pictures were slashed to pieces by a crazy woman art dealer.”

“What in the name of Heaven, why?”

“Because he would not paint her in a certain pose.”

Piero knew and smiled. It was just like Niccolo, and he smiled a second time.

They reached the farm about 40 minutes later. Daniele was standing on the road waiting for them to return. He could make out the figure of another man and strained his eyes until they were close to the driveway. Piero jumped down, helped Tullia and Tommasa off the cart, and carried the unsold pies inside. He could hear Paolo telling Daniele that he was a friend of Niccolo and would be staying with them for a few days.

Piero put the pies on the table while Tullia and Tommasa started to prepare supper. Paolo poured them a glass of grappa and toasted them. “To Piero and Tullia. May their marriage be the best in the world.”

Tullia beamed and placed a plate of spaghetti and chicken in front of Paolo and Piero before returning with plates for her, Daniele, and Tommasa.

“How long have you known Niccolo?” said Tommasa.

“We lived next door to each other. He is also a great inventor. That’s why he’s being hounded by a lot of people in Italia. And why he’s on the run.”

Tommasa rose and placed large slices of pie in front of them. “I understand you would like to get married,” she said to Tullia.

“Tomorrow, if possible.”

“I will see our priest in the morning and ask if he can marry you then.”

“We have just the place for you to spend your honeymoon. It’s an old hen house that Niccolo and Daniele remodelled for him. He turned it into a place where he could do his painting. It also has a bed.”

“There’s also a creek behind it where you can sit under the shade of a tree and fish and sleep and let the rest of the world go by,” said Paolo.

Tommasa looked at Piero. “I don’t see you smiling.”

“There’s something you all should know about. One of the travellers in our coach wondered if I knew someone named Niccolo. He passed himself off as Niccolo’s friend.”

“Piero feels he wants to harm Niccolo in some way,” said Tullia. “He turned up at the market yesterday, and we managed to hide from him, but I have a feeling we have not seen the last of him.”

“What does he look like?”

“He has a face that would scare the devil, someone who would kill you if he wanted your crust of bread. You’ll know if he ever comes your way. When we leave, and should he come here, please do not tell him you even know Niccolo or us. We told him we were on our honeymoon. I’m not sure he believed me.”

Tommasa took Tullia upstairs and pinned her wedding dress against Tullia’s body. “It was made for you. It’s yours if you would like it. In the meantime, you will sleep in our daughter’s old bedroom, and Piero can sleep with Daniele. Paolo would love to walk you down the aisle and give you away if you wish.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Niccolo opened his eyes. His head hurt as though someone had whacked him on the side of his head. He tried to sit up, but it hurt so bad he had to lie flat. He looked around. He was in someone’s dungeon. The bars on the walls slowly came into focus and cast shadows from a single candle on a table beyond them. He could not remember why he was in a cell, where he was or how he came to be there. All he knew was he was very thirsty and that his right shoulder ached. He tried to think back, but nothing came into his head. He eased himself back onto the cot, closed his eyes, and drifted off again.

The noise of someone beating the bars of his cell woke him up. He rose on one elbow and tried to shout to the man walking by. But his throat was so dry he could barely make a sound. He reached down, took off one of his shoes, and threw it at the bars. The man came running back and put his face against the bars.

“I am thirsty,” Niccolo managed to say. “I need water.”

The man disappeared and returned with a pitcher of water with a glass. Another man followed him inside. He was short and had dark fuzzy hair and a small face. The other man had a thin, lined face and menacing eyes. “You were caught trying to jump over our border gate. Who are you, and why did you not enter the usual way?”

“I was being chased,” said Niccolo, “by people trying to prevent me from leaving the Papal Estates.”

“You do not have a Roman accent. Where are you from?” said the man with the menacing eyes.

“Venice.”

“Who are you that they should not want you to leave the Papal Estates?”

“A painter. I am a painter. And my mother asked me to paint a portrait of St. Francis.”

“We find that hard to believe they would stop you from leaving Roma for that.”

“A cardinal had me paint a picture of him, and he was not happy with his appearance. It was how I saw his face.”

He laughed for the first time and nodded to the smaller man, who left, returning with some cheese and bread and another man carrying a doctor’s bag. Niccolo chewed in the cheese and sipped on the water while the doctor cleansed his matted hair when he hit his head from falling off his horse. When he was finished eating, the doctor had him stand close to the barred window to see his wound. He reached into his bag and drew out a jar of salve which he applied to the wound.

The doctor was dressed all in black with a white lacey collar. His brown hair was tied behind his head in a red ribbon, and his teeth the whitest Niccolo had ever seen. He used a thin piece of wood to add some of the salve to a piece of Arab paper and passed it to the smaller man. “Clean his wound with warm water in the morning and add some salve to it. If it gets worse, be sure to let me know,” he added as he left with the other man.

“Are you really a painter?” said the smaller man.

Niccolo nodded. Find me a piece of Arab paper, some ink, and a quill, and I will draw a picture of you.”

The smaller man rose and left, locking the gate before disappearing. He returned with the man with the menacing eyes with some paper and ink. Niccolo had them add another six candles in his cell and sat the smaller man on a stool. He began hurriedly to sketch his eyes and eyebrows and then his mouth. Niccolo drew his hair pushed back from his forehead and then his neck. He then painted him with a smile and shaded in the rest of the picture. He then passed it to him, who studied it for a few minutes and passed it to the taller man.

“You really are an artist,” said the taller man. “What about painting our captain?”

Niccolo nodded, even though it still hurt. They snuffed the candles and led him out into their captain’s office. The taller man smiled and talked to their captain, returning to lead Niccolo into the office. Captain Alessio was younger than the others and a distant member of the House of Medici in Florence. He was posted on the border to give him command experience

and deal with foreigners. He had blond hair, cut short and dark blue eyes and had a way of moving his hands when he spoke, as he did now, “they tell me you’re an artist from Venice and tried to jump your way into the Republic of Florence.”

Niccolo tried to smile. “I want to come to the republic and go to Assisi to get a feel for San Francesco. He is my mother’s favourite saint. I promised I would paint him for her.”

Captain Alessio d’Medici looked at his drawing. “It is certainly a great likeness of our man in the dungeon. How are you with oils?”

“If you honour me by letting me do a painting of you, you can see for yourself.”

d’Medici was moving his head back and forth. “Tell you what. We will free you from your cell while you are painting me. If you attempt to escape at any time, we will lock you up and throw away the key. If you produce a painting that has promise, I will send you under escort to my relatives in Florence.”

He held out his hand, and Niccolo shook it. “If we are to work together, what is your name?”

“Niccolo Billini.”

d’Medici wrote it down and dismissed them. The tall one introduced himself as Octavio Baldovinetti and escorted him to a small room just off the entrance hall. “You can stay and paint here. You will be provided with two meals, with wine at supper time. What will you need in the way of paints and other things to do your painting? The captain has taken a liking to you. If you play fair with him, he can be very generous. I will leave you now. Expect supper in another hour or so and if you get bored, come and chat with us in the guard room.”

Niccolo felt safe and good about his prospects for the first time since his episode with the lady who wanted him to paint her in the nude. He laid himself on the bed and closed his eyes. When Niccolo awoke a couple of hours later, his supper awaited him on a small table beside his bed, along with a large glass of wine. He sat down and feasted on chicken cooked over a spit with beans and bread. He took a mouthful of wine to follow a mouthful of chicken and bread dipped in olive oil.

He cleaned himself up and looked at himself and his head wound in the mirror before wetting his hair and pushing it back. He opened the door and strolled down the hall to the guard room to see Octavio down a mouthful of beer. He poured a glass for Niccolo and introduced him to the other guards.

“After you finish painting the captain, will you draw pictures of us?”

said one of the guards.

“In fact, I can start tonight.” He looked at Octavio. “Can you find me some Arab paper, ink and a sharp quill?”

Octavio raised his arm. “Leave that with me.” He returned about 15 minutes later with some paper and ink in his hands and a quill over his ear.

“That would make a great picture. Give me the ink, paper and quill and sit on that stool,” said Niccolo pointing to the stool behind Octavio. “And three or four more candles would also help.”

Octavio sat on the stool while the others lit candles around him. Niccolo sat and looked at his face for about five minutes before dipping the quill into the ink. He started with the eyebrows as he always did. He paused, “I want you to smile. You have a handsome face if you aren’t showing anger at someone.”

The others laughed, and Octavio scowled at them. It just set them off laughing again. When they finished laughing, Niccolo drew his lips and mouth. He spent some time on it and added a twinkle in Octavio’s eyes. Then the neck, and finally, the hair. He showed it to the others first. They looked at it in silence, each waiting to be next. Niccolo passed his drawing to Octavio. “I have seen myself in a mirror, but I have never seen me look like this.”

“That is how you look when you smile and how I see you.” Niccolo turned to the others. They all nodded and shouted, “who’s next?”

Niccolo took back the drawing and signed his name to the drawing. “One day, it might be worth many gold florins.”

Borso wasn’t getting anywhere. One thing he was sure of, Niccolo was not there. Where could he go if he left there? Maybe South and Borsoe shook his head. He would likely head North to Genoa or Florence. Probably Florence. He would be closer to Ferarra if he did; perhaps they had not heard about him. He would think he would be safe there. He turned his horse North towards the border with the Republic of Florence. He felt better already and stopped at the first inn on his way to eat and buy some cheese and bread for the journey ahead. He stopped at the wine store to buy a large bottle of wine and entered a large town by mid-afternoon, where he decided to stay overnight.

“How many miles to the border with Florence?” he said to the clerk who checked him in.

“About three hours from here by coach.” The clerk did not look up at him. “One of our staff will take you to your room. Dinner starts at five

o’clock,” he added, pointing to the dining room entrance on the right.

When he reached his room, he washed and put on a new shirt and decided to wear his new doublet with the gold cuffs. He went downstairs and straight into the dining room, where he was greeted by a young woman in her early 20s. Her blond hair bounced off her shoulders as she led him to his table. Several other travellers were seated around the room. The drapes were pulled back to let in as much sunlight as possible before dusk set in. Someone was playing the harp not far from his table. It was just like a place his quarry, Niccolo, would frequent. He stopped her when she placed a large German beer on his table. “Pardon me, miss,” he said in a soothing voice, “but I had a friend come this way a few days ago. I wonder if he stopped here.”

“We don’t get many travellers here, but a young man joined us for supper one evening. The lady who works with me talked to him. He also wanted to know how long it was to the Genoa’s border and how far to the Florence border.”

“Did he happen to say which one?”

“He didn’t say.”

Borso’s appearance made other people feel uneasy, but he went to see the clerk and asked him if they had a traveller headed for the border in recent days. A different clerk went through the pages and named off several names rapidly. There were no names that Borso recognized. He went to bed early and planned to leave at first light, hoping to reach the border before noon.

Six guards blocked the border with their crossbows aimed at every person trying to enter the republic. The guard at the wicket stopped him from entering and asked his name and purpose of business.

“I am on an errand for the Prince of Ferarra, who would appreciate entry.

“What is the nature of your business?”

Borso was becoming impatient and made another attempt to go by the guard.

The guard took out his sword and motioned to his friends with their crossbows to raise their weapons. “I don’t want trouble. I just want to get on my way.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait another day until we check who you are and why you want to enter our republic.”

Borso took out his knife and placed the point against the guard’s throat. “Now, either let me by, or this goes into your throat.”

One of the guards who crept up behind him unnoticed rose and hit

him over the head with a shovel. Borso staggered and lunched at him with his knife. One of the other guards shot a bolt through his right arm. Borso doubled over in pain and fell to the ground.

Daniele drove Piero to the church in the village, a 15-minute tour past other farms where they waved to them. Tommasa put the finishing touch to a bow under Tillia’s breast and led her to the mirror. “This is who Piero will see when Paolo leads you down the aisle.”

“Maybe he won’t recognize me in this.”

“Not a chance. I felt the same way I did when I married Paolo.”

Word had gotten around their neighbours that Tommasia’s guests were getting married, stood at the end of the road, threw flowers into their cart, and waved to them. Closer to the church, people also threw flowers at them and began clapping. It followed them all the way to the church, where Tommasa helped her off the cart. Paolo waited for her at the door. Tommasa walked past them and seated herself in the first pew.

I stayed up late last night making this for your wife. He led her down the aisle to where Piero was standing. He placed a ring in Piero’s hand. Piero had a hard time holding back his tears and warmed Paolo’s hand with his.

The priest began the ceremony, and after they had exchanged vows, they went behind the altar and into the vestry, where they signed the book, signifying their marriage.

Piero found a gold florin and placed it in the hands of the priest. When he and Tullia re-entered the church, many of Paolo’s and Tommasa’s friends suddenly appeared and began to sing one of their favourite hymns.

Piero had hired a coach to take them back to the farm. Daniele had started out before his mother and Tullia, who had to hold on to their dresses while walking through the yard and up the steps to the kitchen. Within minutes their neighbours appeared in their backyard, carrying freshcooked beef, baked chickens, pies, special breads and a large wedding cake. Old Filippo came with a huge jug of wine that required four men to lift it on a roller.

It was past midnight when everyone left, and Tommasa and Paolo escorted them to Niccolo’s cabin. “The bed’s narrow for two sleepers, but I don’t think you’ll mind,” said Tommasa as she closed the door.

Piero undressed her and himself and left the candle on until they went to sleep. It burned out before morning when he opened his eyes. Tullia was also awake and put her face next to his.

Borso felt his head. It was buzzing, and he looked around to figure out where he was. When he turned his head, he saw the bars, and it all came back to him in a rush. The border and his fight with the guards. His arm was bandaged and hurt badly whenever he tried to move it. He used his good arm to push himself up and saw that they had taken off most of his clothes. He was in a dungeon. A cool wind from a barred open window above blew into his cell. He used his good arm to push him up from the cot and walked to the bars. He tried the door, but it was locked, and he cried out for the guard. There was no response, and he started shouting at the top of his voice. He heard a door creak open from above, and someone walked slowly down the stairs. The small jailer threatened him with a stick if he did not quiet down. “My associate will be here shortly and will want to know your name and why you tried to kill one of our guards.”

Borso shivered and remembered holding his knife against his neck. He waited until the other jailer arrived. That came an hour later. “I’m hungry,” he shouted when the guard passed his cell.

“You’ll have to wait until morning,”

He sat, but it only made him feel colder. He used his good arm to wrap the blanket around his shoulders. He still shivered until the other guard opened the door and entered. “I understand you threatened to kill one of our guards with a knife at our border. What are your name and reason for wanting to come to the Republic of Florence?”

“I’m not telling you or anyone else until I am set free and let go a free man.”

“Suit yourself?”

Octavio started for the door.

“My name is Alphonso Borso. I am here on a mission for the Prince d’Este.”

“What is your mission precisely?”

“To find one of his subjects and bring him back to Ferarra.

“What is the name of this person?”

“Niccolo Billini.”

Octavio nodded and went away, wondering why the Prince of the House d’Este wanted Niccolo. He was just a painter. He decided to keep it to himself until he finished his painting of the captain. He would tell the captain then and let him decide what to do. There was something about Borso that made him feel nervous. He was a tight spring, ready to let go. He would warn the others to be very careful around him and not put themselves in harm’s way.

The doctor arrived to check on Borso’s arm. Octavio had two guards help him upstairs for the doctor to check on his arm, which appeared to be festering. The light would be brighter and help the doctor check Borso’s wound under the best conditions.

He was escorting Borso at the same time Niccolo emerged from his room and was walking to see d’Medici. They passed each other with no recognition by Borso or Niccolo. He smiled. There was more than meets the eye, and he would mention this to d’Medici at the end of the week.

d’Medici saw Niccolo at the door and waved him inside. Niccolo carried the painting under his arm under a paint-spattered cloth and set it on the easel in the office. Niccolo had d’Medici sit next to the window so that he could see his face better. d’Mediciliked to chat and asked him what he thought of the Papal Estates. “The knights have too much power, and I’m positive the Pope has no idea just how much power they had slowly eaten away from him. They obey his direct orders to the letter but take it upon themselves to do things he might not approve of if he knew.”

“I must make a note of this for my uncle in Florence.” Then, after a pause, “when do you expect I can see what you’ve done.?”

“In two more days, it will be done. But I do need your guidance on one thing. What background would you like me to paint?”

“You decide.”

“I see you at the head of an army in full armour.”

d’Medici smiled. “You’re a very wise man, Niccolo. They tell me you insulted a cardinal with your painting of him and that you had to leave before they had you thrown in prison.”

“That is only partially correct. There was another reason, which I would not like to divulge at this time.”

“Fair enough.” Then after a pause, “you didn’t kill the cardinal, did you?”

“Nothing as drastic as that. One thing I will confess to you. I was kidnapped by four knights in the Republic of Venice and brought to Roma. But, as I said, they sometimes take matters into their own hands.”

“Now you’re really intriguing me. I think I will send you to my uncle in Florence. He will know what to do with you.”

Niccolo turned his attention to draw d’Medici in armour. He had him put on his breastplate and sketched a drawing at it, noting how it gleamed in the sunlight. He stood and told d’Medici that he was tired and would come back to finish the breastplate in the afternoon.

Octavio visited him while Niccolo was still in his room. “I thought I’d better tell you about an individual from Ferarra who the government had

sent to track you down. We picked him up, threatening one of our border guards. I’d be careful about going back to Ferarra if I were you. He’s a mean type who would kill his mother. Do not let him know your name should he come across you.”

Niccolo thanked him and showed him his painting of d’Medici. “It’s not done yet, as you can see.”

“You have the gift. When I see his face, I feel I am in his office looking at him.”

Niccolo thanked him and made his way back to d’Medici’s office, carrying his painting with its paint-spattered covering. He put it on the easel, removed the cloth, and had d’Medici sit near the window to get the light on his face and breastplate. Niccolo spent the rest of the afternoon finishing the painting. He stood back and looked at it before asking d’Medici to view it.

d’Medici studied the painting for a full five minutes, walking up close and back again and viewing it from the left and the right. He turned to Niccolo. “You have turned me into a Prince. I will send a courier to my uncle to tell him about your extraordinary gifts. He favours artists, and they are always welcome at his table. Then I will send you to him under guard to see that no evil befalls you.” He smiled again. “You will dine with me this evening.”

He went to his door and waved to Octavio. “Come and see the miracle Niccolo has created. He shall dine with me this night. Then, escort him to my quarters.”

Octavio saluted and turned to go but was stopped by d’Medici.

“One thing more. I will compose a letter to my uncle in Florence. It will be ready for you before the hour is out. I want it sent to my uncle as soon as you pick it up.”

Niccolo followed Octavio out. “Your fortune is made. As soon as the captain saw your picture, he will praise you to the skies to his uncle. In case you don’t know, the house of Medici is very powerful and very rich. His uncle is very generous to those he likes.”

Octavio left him at his room. “Dress up. The captain’s suppers can be lavish and often include influential people from the town. You can be sure that your painting will be on display, and you will receive some attractive offers to do more paintings. So dress the part.”

Niccolo laid out his best doublet, breeches, and frilly-neck shirt. He cleaned his shoes and found a long pair of white stockings that would be hidden by his doublet that reached his knees. Niccolo undressed, trimmed his beard to give it a shape and washed from head to toe. He brushed his

hair back and tied it with a scarlet ribbon, which reminded him of Piero and Ferarra.

Octavio was at his door a few minutes later. Niccolo opened the door and waved him inside before turning around so Octavio could see him front and back. “You’ll do. You’ll do fine.” He led him out and onto a carriage to d’Medici’s quarters, a large house with a servant standing outside.

Octavio patted him on the back. “I’ll be here to make sure you get back to bed. Good luck.”

“You are my lucky charm, Octavio,” he shouted after him. The servant led him inside. Captain d’Medici is expecting you. Permit me to take you to him.” The servant led him into a large room, where at least a dozen or more people were standing around Niccolo’s painting. He slipped in and went straight to d’Medici, who saw him enter and was walking towards him.

“Thank you for joining us. Everyone wants to meet you.” He nodded to one of the servants, who went to alert the others that dinner was being served. Niccolo sat next to d’Medici and noticed all eyes were on him. He felt uncomfortable. d’Medici stood and looked down at Niccolo. “In case you haven’t met our guest of honour tonight, permit me to introduce him to you.”

He waved for Niccolo to join him in standing. “Ladies and gentlemen, Niccolo Billini, who is destined to become Italia’s great painter and enjoy enormous success at my uncle’s court in Florence.”

There was enthusiastic clapping. The woman sitting next to Niccolo introduced herself and her husband. He shook their hands and smiled and gave them a broad smile.

The lady was dressed in an ornamented gown and a silver crown in her chestnut hair. She had Etruscan almond-shaped eyes that attracted many admirers. About 20 years her senior, her husband had a receding hairline with grey sideburns and compelling dark eyes. His face was thin, and he had a gentle touch that matched his voice. “Would you do us the honour of painting my beautiful wife looking as she does this wonderful night?”

“That depends on what Captain d’Medici’s uncle has in store for me.”

“Yes, of course,”

“I will be leaving for Florence in the next day or two, and if I find my way back, I would be delighted to oblige you, Signore. The beauty of your wife should be painted so that future generations will see how beautiful she is.”

A number of other guests came to sit next to him and ask him if he would paint him and his wife. He turned them down, remembering what Octavio had told him, but promised he would seek them out should he

return from Florence.

The supper broke up around nine o’clock. They all shook hands with him and waved to him as they left. “You’ve made many conquests this night. But, if I am right, this is just the beginning of what you can expect once my uncle sees you. May I suggest that you offer to paint him? He likes having himself painted.”

Octavio was waiting for him with a carriage and helped him up. Niccolo paused. “I’d like to sit with you if you have no objection” Octavio made room for him and started to sing once they were out of the Captain’s quarters.

“You were right. I was practically mobbed by men asking me to paint their wives. I told them I would certainly do so if I returned, which brings me to a request I’d like to make. I’d like you to escort me to Florence and help me find my way when we reach there.”

“He’s already ordered me to take you there. He has a keen eye and knows you trust me.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Piero helped Tullia into the coach. She put the bag containing the food Tommasa had packed for them onto her lap. Piero lifted himself onto the seat next to the driver. “Will we reach the border today?”

The driver shook his head. It was the same driver they had before. “Tomorrow around noon. Where do you plan to get off?”

“Not sure. Will you be going as far as Florence?”

“You two are on quite a honeymoon.” He smiled and turned to spit.

Piero returned to the coach a few minutes later and tipped his hat over his forehead. “Get ready for a long trip. The coachman, by the way, is the same one that brought us to the market. I don’t know what he chews, but he still spits over the side of the coach. If you like to change places, just say the word if some of it finds its way inside. It was a bright day and was already feeling close. He opened his window to let in the air, tipped his hat again and closed his eyes. Tullia nudged him at noon. Two new male passengers had joined them. The older man carried a cane with a silver head which he kept twirling close to them.

Piero opened his eyes to see the cane twirling in front of his face. He grabbed the cane out of instinct. The older man, who had a cruel look, grabbed it from him. “That is not your property, sir.”

“Then, if you don’t want me to throw it out of the window, keep it away from our faces.”

The scar on the older man’s face seemed to grow with the anger in his eyes. He gripped the came and twisted the handle to reveal a thin sword. “No one tells Sigismodo what to do. Unless you want me to run you through with this.” He aimed at a few inches from Piero’s throat. Piero brushed it away and called for the driver to stop. He lunged it at Piero again, who kicked it out of his hand. It clattered to the floor just as the driv-

er had opened the carriage door.

Piero put his foot over the sword and gave it to the driver.

“That is mine,” said the older man.

“He’s dangerous and will only cause trouble for him or my wife. So either he leaves the coach, or we do.”

The older man threw his arm against the diver’s hand and picked up his sword. “Now, we shall see who leaves the coach. You,” he said in a gravely voice, pointing to his companion, “go to the driver’s seat while I get rid of these people.” Then, he turned to Piero and the driver, “both of you leave the carriage. The lady can stay.”

He followed Piero and the driver out and made them walk away from the carriage. When they were far enough away, the older man jumped inside the coach to see that Tullia was not there. The coach was already moving, and he ordered the driver to stop. He opened the door and started running after her, waving his sword and screaming. He did not notice that Piero had picked up a heavy branch from the side of the road and that he and their coach driver were on opposite sides. The driver had picked up a couple of rocks. Tullia could see what was happening and ran past them. The driver threw a rock that hit him in the hip, slowing him down as Piero ran to club him over the head.

His companion could see what was happening and left the coach to rescue the older man. Instead, the driver hurled another rock and hit him between his eyes. He staggered, and Piero was on top of him. The driver had left him with the older man’s sword as he ran back to get the rope he used to fix bags to the coach and return to tie up the older man and his companion.

“You can’t leave us here,” said the older man’s companion. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Piero ignored them, and they boarded the coach. The driver snapped his reins, and their four horses galloped away. They had gone down the same road for about ten minutes when Tullia looked back to see them no longer lying on the road.

They reached a town about an hour later and stopped at a knight’s barracks. Piero went inside and asked for the young Swiss commanding officer, who stood when they entered his office.

The driver talked first. “I am the driver of the coach you see outside. And these two good people are my passengers. I stopped to pick up two men on our way to the border. One of them drew a sword hidden in his cane and ordered us to leave the coach and for this man’s wife to remain. They planned to steal the coach all along. The lady escaped, and the man

with the sword ran after her. We were able to attack him and his companion and disarmed them. We tied them up and left them lying on the road a few miles back.”

The commanding officer nodded. “We’ll go after them and see that they never bother you or anyone else again.” Then, after a pause, “may I ask why you plan to leave the Papal Estates?”

Tullia jumped in before Piero could respond. “Piero and I just got married and are on our honeymoon. We’re going to see my mother.”

“What is her name?”

“Veronica Rosso,” said Tullia.

They stopped at an inn in a small town not far from the border that night. The inn was the largest before the border and the only one where you could have room. They could hear music and dancing and shouts as they entered.

“What’s happening? I see people dancing,” said Tullia.

“A wedding celebration. The unification of two powerful families in the area,” said the young woman at the check-in desk. Their driver had edged close to the door to watch the dancing, humming along with the music.

“We’re on our honeymoon.” She glanced at the dancers and nodded to the music. “Do you think they’d mind if we stood at the door and watched everything?”

“I’ll find out,” said the clerk and disappeared into the room. Piero edged to the door and watched her go to the bride and whisper in her ear. The bride nodded and talked to her husband, who smiled.

“When I told them that you were on your honeymoon, they thought it would be a good omen if you joined them at the wedding table and sat next to them,” she said when she returned. “Follow me,” she said and led them to the bride, who stood and invited Tullia to sit next to her. The bridegroom stood and shook Piero’s hand and whispered something in Piero’s ear. They both smiled.

Tullia and Piero danced along with the bride and the bridegroom as the only two couples on the floor. Their driver found a seat at one of the tables at the back of the room. Everyone clapped when the music ended.

“Our wedding was not so grand,” said Tullia.

“I envy you,” said the bride, who introduced herself as Antonia. “You cannot imagine what we had to go through before we reached the altar.”

“I envy your wonderful reception.”

The bride smiled and squeezed her hand. “Do you live far from here? I would like us to be friends.”

“I would love to, but we are far from you. But you never know. We are on our way into the Republic of Florence to see my mother, who remarried and lives there.”

Piero woke with a splitting headache. He knew he had drunk too much, and he felt queasy. They met their driver in the lobby, helping an elderly couple onto the coach. Piero helped Tullia into the coach before entering himself. He sat close to the window on the left side, settled back, and closed his eyes.

They were passing a farm when he swore he saw the older man and his companion gallop past them on horses. Piero mentioned it to the driver at the first stop. He nodded. “I noticed them, too. The older man’s companion even waved to me. Do you think they will try to stop us in some way?”

“I doubt it.” But Piero was not so sure and decided not to tell Tullia. The old couple sitting opposite them had fallen asleep, and he looked at Tullia and smiled.

The driver opened the flap under the driver’s seat. “We’ll be at the border in a matter of minutes. So get ready to be interrogated by the guards.”

The carriage stopped, and Piero jumped out with the driver to meet with the border guards.

“Where are you going?” he asked Piero.

“To Florence. My wife and I are on our honeymoon, and my wife wanted to see her mother, who remarried and now lives in Florence.”

“Ask your wife to step out of the coach.”

The guard, a young man with a sandy-coloured mustache, looked her over and pinched his chin. “Is there anyone else with you?”

“Just an old couple on their way to Florence,” said the driver.

“I would like you all to follow me into our office.”

They followed him to a small building near the border gate. He asked the old couple a few questions and released them. “But you three are another matter. We have reports that you three are on a mission to assassinate the Gonfaloniere.”

“That’s insane,” the driver burst out.

“If you got this information from an older man and his companion, you should also be aware that they tried to steal the coach and my wife.”

“But we stopped them,” said the driver.

“How could they?”

“The older man had a cane with a silver head. With a twist, it becomes a long thin blade, which he used in their attempt to steal the carriage,” added Piero.

The guard sat back and stroked his chin. He turned to Tullia. Are you prepared to swear that they are telling the truth?”

She nodded. “I fear they will lie in wait for us and will try to kill us.”

“How long before they left you?” said Piero.

“About 30 minutes.”

“Would it be possible to have one of your armed guards come with us?”

The guard shook his head, but Piero continued to press him. “These two have been let loose into your great republic, and you can be sure we are not the only ones they will attack and, perhaps, kill.”

H stroked his chin again. “I’ll have one of our guards follow you on horseback until you reach the next town. That’s all I can offer. I’m sorry.”

Piero sat on top with the driver with a large club with his eyes on the road. They reached the next town, and the guard who accompanied them turned and headed back to the border.

They passed one town after another until nightfall, when they stopped at an inn. It was not as large as the one they had before the border, but at least they had room. Piero brought in his club and laid it beside their bed. They drifted off to sleep and woke to the sunlight that streamed through their window. Piero rose and went to the window when he saw the older man and his companion turn the corner. They had slept in the same hotel without knowing it.

Tullia smiled when he told her. So did their driver at breakfast. “Before we leave, I’d like to find a place where I can acquire a crossbow and some bolts.”

Their driver left to get the horses ready and feed them, and Piero searched for a crossbow. There was no place where he could buy one, just a shop that offered ceremonial swords. It would have to do, he thought.

“It may be a bit dull,” said their driver, rubbing his thumb along its edge. “But it can still cut.”

They rode until they changed horses at a small inn on the main road to Florence. It was noon, and no place to buy food. Tullia shared what was left of the food Tommasa had packed for them. The driver chewed on a small piece of cheese while the others ate bread and the rest of the chicken.

Tullia spotted them first, galloping behind them and yelled to Piero. “They’re coming again and just behind us.”

Their driver picked up a rock and Piero, his sword. The driver heaved it at them as they passed. They stayed ready for anything for the next hour before deciding the older man and his companion had decided to go ahead. It was early morning, and the city was barely awake. The road to the

gates at Florence was clogged with farmers coming to sell their produce at the city’s markets. Piero looked at the sentries walking along the city’s walls. It took an hour before they passed through the gates. Six soldiers, three on each side, held their crossbows in readiness. Piero jumped off the couch and asked one of the guards where they could find a hotel or inn. The first guard ignored them, but the second guard pointed them down a side street to an inn. “My wife and I lived there when we first came here. It’s not fancy, but a place where they make you feel at home.”

He returned to the coach and pointed to the sidestreet the guard had shown him. “There’s an inn down the street. He likes the place.”

Piero led the horses to the street and jumped aboard. He felt safe for the first time since they left Tommasa and Paolo’s home. Tullia did as well. They undressed and went to bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Theday before they left, one of the prisoners snatched the sword from one of the guards and threatened to kill him if someone tried to stop him from leaving. d’Medici looked at him and nodded to one of the guards on the upper balcony holding a crossbow to kill him.

He made a dash for the door when the bolt from the crossbow pierced his back. He fell to the floor, throwing up blood that oozed out of the corners of his mouth. He tried to speak, but no one could understand his words. Everyone just stood around him until the last twitch.

Two soldiers took his body away an hour later and threw it into a pit behind the guard hall. They washed the floor to remove all signs of blood. Octavio knocked on Niccolo’s door and entered.

“An evil man, who came into our custody a few days ago, has just been killed when he attempted to escape by threatening to kill one of our guards. We learned that he was on a mission for the Prince d’Este to seek you out and kill you. You need to be on guard at all times.” ***

Octavio and Niccolo had the carriage to themselves when they left the border. Once out of sight, the driver snapped the reins and had them flying along the road to Florence. The morning sun was warm and made him feel he could take on the world. They passed a dozen farms before stopping for lunch at a small inn. Octavio was anxious to start again. “The captain wrote to his uncle that you would present yourself at his uncle’s home tomorrow morning. The captain likes his orders carried out to the letter.”

At nightfall, Octavio lit the lamps on each side of the carriage. He

switched places with the driver and drove all night, stopping only to change their team. Dawn was breaking, and he changed positions with the driver again and went to sleep.

They reached the outer wall of the city just as dawn was breaking. They found a small inn, just off the main road, where Niccolo could change his clothes, shave and wash. He joined Octavio a few minutes later at their carriage just as a man and a young woman emerged from the inn and were about to board their coach when Niccolo looked in their direction. The man reminded Niccolo of Piero, and when he turned, he dropped everything. Piero knew who it was in an instant and ran to meet him. They met halfway and hugged each other.

“I can’t talk now, Piero. I am on my way to see the head of the House of Medici. But we expect to be back for supper. If I’m not, know that I will be.” He led Piero to Octavio. “This is my best friend, Piero.”

Octavio smiled and shook his hands. “We would like to stay longer and chat. We cannot be late for our meeting.”

“Before you go, Niccolo, I want to introduce you to my good wife. We were married at the home of your good friends, Tommasa and Paolo.”

Niccolo kissed her and boarded the carriage, waving to them until they were out of sight.

Giovanni di Bicci de Medici had just returned from his bank. He was in a good mood. The bank had just completed its best year, and de Medici felt there was no stopping him now. He had a long nose, dark, penetrating eyes and a ready laugh. His growing gallery of paintings pleased him almost as much as his choir, making many Florentines look up to him as a banker and someone who appreciated great beauty.

Five prominent Florentine businessmen were talking to him when Niccolo entered. He felt nervous, He had never seen such a beautiful room in his life. Paintings that made his offerings look pale and insignificant lined the walls, covered in rich red and gold colours. They made the paintings jump out at you. Niccolo clasped his hands together and dropped them.

d’Medici looked up and spotted Niccolo. “Please join us. We won’t bite.”

“At least. Not today,” said one of the businessmen. They all laughed and waved him to join them.

“This, my friends, is Niccolo Billlini, an artist my nephew raves about. We shall soon see about that.” He paused and offered Niccolo a smile. “We shall talk about art as soon as these rascals take their leave of us.”

When they were alone, he led Niccolo to his garden at the back of his

mansion. The garden was covered in blooms; here and there, Roman and Greek figures popped their heads above the flowers. They sat down on a swing and moved back and forth for a few minutes.

“Nature is beautiful, Niccolo. I treasure all beautiful things.” Then, after a pause, “I would like you to paint my garden. I am interested in seeing how it looks to an artist’s eye.”

Niccolo nodded. “When would you like me to start?”

“Why not now?” He studied Niccolo’s face and saw the light in his eyes. “ I have an easel and an array of brushes and colours to choose from.”

Giovanni nodded to a servant who had followed them in. He disappeared and returned with an easel, a canvas, a palette of colours and several brushes under his arm. He placed them in front of Niccolo, who checked the oils and brushes before setting up the easel and placing a large canvas on it. It would take a large canvas to capture all the scents and colours. He sat and studied the garden for almost 30 minutes before picking up a brush. He would sketch what he saw first and decide what to emphasize afterward.

He worked through lunch and suddenly felt very hungry. Just a few more minutes, and he would have much of it finished. De Medici suddenly appeared. “It’s time to call it a day.” He looked at Niccolo’s face and was struck by the excitement in Niccolo’s eyes. “Come with me.“

Niccolo placed a cloth over the painting and followed him into Giovanni’s dining room. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering our evening meal.”

“I would love to join you, but the guard who accompanied me from the border is waiting for me outside.”

Giovanni nodded to one of the servants who returned with Octavio, holding his cap and looking at the paintings that decorated the walls and along the long table. They sat at the end of the table, covered with a dazzling white cloth. Four candelabras gave the table a special glow and brightened the silver at each setting. Servers stood behind each of their chairs, and a wine server stood next to the wall, ready to fill their glasses.

Giovanni turned to Octavio. “I understand you’re a member of my nephew’s border guards. How is he faring?”

“Very well, sir.” Octavio’s voice was unsteady.

Giovanni smiled and put his hand on Octavio’s. “We were not always rich and important. But, tell me, what is your honest opinion of Niccolo? You’ve spent some time together and, I dare say, got to know him better than my nephew.”

“He’s an incredible person. He has no idea how gifted he is and treats everyone he meets, like me, as important.”

Giovanni turned to Niccolo. “Are you the same Niccolo Billini all of Italia is talking about?”

Niccolo bowed his head. Octavio suddenly realized there was a side to Niccolo he did not know about.

“Our friend is also an accomplished alchemist and the creator of a formula that could make Italia the greatest country in Europe.”

Octavio looked at Niccolo with his mouth open. Giovanni smiled at Octavio. “It’s best that you remain his guard. I will write my nephew that I have appointed Niccolo’s guardian to be with him all the time he is in Florence.”

Octavio bowed. “Grazie, he said, lifting his head.

One of the servants returned with an armful of wood for the giant fireplace at the end of the room. Giovanni rubbed his hands for warmth. “The doctors tell me my blood is thin, which is why I am cold all the time.” He stood, signalling that their meal had come to an end. “See that Messer Niccolo is here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. I have a busy day tomorrow when you arrive. I will instruct my servants to look after you in my absence.”

As they emerged from the mansion with its large columns and portico, Octavio nodded to the servant to bring their carriage. They walked down the steps to the bottom, where Niccolo glanced back at the statues and grandeur of the d’Medici building.

They drove down the crowded streets and to the inn. The streets were crowded with young and older women carrying young, crying children and food from the market; young men dressed as lawyers; and bankers and merchants walking with their canes to their homes. Even at supper time, the area was alive with the voices of hundreds of people.

They arrived at their inn to see Piero and his wife waiting for them outside. Niccolo jumped out first and went straight to Piero to hug him and sit beside them. “This is my guard. He follows me wherever I go.”

“What happened when you went to see d’Medici?”

“He set me up in his garden and asked me to paint the scene. I will finish it tomorrow.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. d’Medici knows, by the way, all about my career as an alchemist and the creator of a powerful explosive.”

“Did he want to know about your formula?”

Niccolo shook his head. “He didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer.” He turned to Tullia. “Tell me all about this beautiful creature beside you. She must be blind not to see how you look.”

“I knew he was the one I wanted to be in my life forever. I had to bribe him. The first time we met, he could not pay the bill. I had to do it for him.”

“What about supper?”

“Octavio and I already ate with him in his incredible dining room. It could easily have seated 100 or more people. But we’d be pleased to join you and Tullia. I need to know what your plans are and why you’re here of all places.”

The dining room was crowded with late guests, but their waiter found a table for them almost hidden in the corner. The noise level forced them to raise their voices. Tullia was dressed in a long dress and puffed sleeves and looked at Piero when he was talking.

“Actually, I was sent here by the Prince to bring you back to Ferarra. When I arrived in Roma, I discovered that someone was trying to find out where you were – a mean-looking man who would slit your throat for a copper. He followed Tullia and me South, thinking I might know where you were. We didn’t. This is just where I thought you would go end up. We met with Tommasa and Paolo and were married there. We spent our honeymoon in your cabin. I knew by the way they talked about you that it was my old friend, Niccolo.

“From there, we headed North. That’s where I thought you would go next.”

“How was your experience at the Florentine border? I landed in jail there and where I met Octavio, who has become my good luck charm.”

Octavio cleared his throat. “Another man from Ferrara who tried to crash our border revealed he had been sent to murder you. Ironically, you two passed each other in the guard hall one day.”

“What are your plans?” said Piero.

“I will see what the future holds. So far, everything is going well. No one is trying to kill or kidnap me, and they see me as a painter. But, should that change, I may have to flee here as well.”

“Piero and I will go with you,” said Tullia.

Their meal arrived, and Piero dug into it, stopping only to sip on a glass of wine while he wondered if he should make the suggestion that had been singing in his head since they arrived in Florence. He took another mouthful of wine and looked at Niccolo.

“You may think I’m crazy, but I’d like to go back to Venice. Our mothers always think about us and probably wonder if we were still alive.”

“I like Florence,” said Niccolo flatly. “It’s alive with everything I think is important in life. Especially art. I would like to see where my experience in Florence could take us first. And then make a decision.”

They talked about old times and how the Council hunted them down when they were fleeing Venice. After supper, Niccolo followed them to their room and sat down near a window that overlooked a large garden. Everything was in bloom, and he thought about his painting.

Niccolo went to bed, feeling a bit sad. Here was peace and opportunity. He would do his best for d’Medici and spend the next few months becoming an artist. d’Medici never mentioned Niccolo’s days as an alchemist and his formula that made him famous throughout Italia. The next few months would tell the tale and help him make a decision. He, too, missed the canals and the boatmen, who often sang as they polled themselves from street to street.

Niccolo talked about it to Octavio first. Who could help Piero become a captain of Florence’s canon battery? Octavio suggested raising the question with d’Medici at an appropriate time. Of course, he would have to do his best with his garden painting before he did anything.

d’Medici saw it when he returned in the evening. It took his breath away. The blooms were almost real. “You are another Apelles, the great Greek painter.” He studied it for nearly 30 minutes. “My nephew tells me you shine painting portraits. Do you think I would be a good subject for a portrait?”

Niccolo looked at his face carefully and nodded. “Provided you are prepared to sit for two or three hours at a time.”

D’Medici nodded. “What about the evenings? I am usually free then.”

“When would you like to start?”

“What’s wrong with now?” said d’Medici. “I don’t believe in wasting time.”

They had just finished eating, and Niccolo suggested the library or his garden. In the end, they decided on the library. It had a large window that let in a lot of light. He would paint him near the window on one side and a stand with four candles on the other. Faces were tricky, and a slight mistake could change everything. Octavio helped him set up, and Niccolo started sketching d’Medici’s eyebrows and eyes, nose and mouth. They had to be perfect before he started the painting. Niccolo placed a cloth over the painting when the light failed and cleaned his brushes.

It was much the same over the next few days. d’Medici was unfailingly courteous, and not once did his formula come up for discussion. He was later to learn that d’Medici avoided politics in all matters.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Inthe following months, Piero had become a captain of the city’s cannon batteries, and he was busy painting ladies of rich husbands. Tullia became pregnant, and Octavio married a lady of his age. In less than a month, it would be Christmas, and Niccolo found it hard to keep up with the demands for his paintings. He was courted now by other artists and often spent the evenings in their company at one of the nearby taverns. Later, when he walked back to the hotel, he sensed that he was being followed. But when he looked back, there was no one there.

Octavio always walked in front of him, and frequently looked back to see if anyone was following them. In dark streets like this, he thought there was no telling who might be lurking in the shadows and ready to kill them. He withdrew his sword and held it in both hands. If anyone tried to jump them, they would regret it. Octavio tried to smile, but his heart was pumping wildly as they turned down the street to their inn. He walked a bit faster. The sooner he was in the light and inside the inn, he would breathe easier.

Octavio saw Piero sitting on the steps and waving his arms to them as they neared the inn. They ran the rest of the way, arriving at the inn almost out of breath.

“I thought you’d come,” said Piero. Even a deaf man could hear the anxiety in his voice. “My wife has been kidnapped.”

“Calm down,” said Octavio, sitting beside him and rubbing his back.

“Tell us exactly what happened, leaving nothing out,” said Niccolo.

Piero paused to calm himself for almost a minute. “When I came back to the inn, my wife was no longer in our room. Instead, there were two envelopes – one for me and one for you. It said they had my wife in custody

and that she would be safe if I did what they wanted.” He passed the letter to Niccolo. Piero had already opened it.

Niccolo edged closer to the lamp over the doorway and withdrew the single sheet of writing. He opened it slowly, even though his heart was pumping wildly. He read the letter out loud so that Octavio could hear.

“I am an agent of the Republic of Genoa. The doge has sent me to bring you to Genoa and share your great military discovery with us. If you do not, the wife of your friend will be killed. If you agree, we will drop her off unharmed in any place you designate the moment you are in our custody.

“Another letter will be delivered to your hotel in the morning, with instructions to go to a place where we can take custody of you. If you are followed, your friend’s wife will be executed on the spot.”

Piero looked at Niccolo as soon as he stopped reading. Niccolo ignored him and looked at Octavio. “What do you suggest?”

“They think they have closed all the doors, but we may still have a way.”

Piero looked at him with hope in his eyes and back to Niccolo.

“They are likely to post runners along the route, who can signal whether you are being followed. But what if Piero and I leave the hotel at least an hour before you? We can be where you are to meet them and be ready to move on them as soon we see Tullia. I’ll be carrying a crossbow with me, and so will Piero. You will come with your sword.” He turned to Piero, “I assume you know how to shoot a crossbow and how to wind them?”

Piero nodded and followed them into the dining room to toast their success. Piero was still a bit edgy and left them an hour later to try to sleep. Niccolo and Octavio talked about all the things that could go wrong and how they should handle everything.

Piero and Octavio left after breakfast, around nine o’clock. They walked at a brisk pace. It took them almost 40 minutes to reach the place where the exchange would be made. They hid in the shadows on both sides of the street. There were shops on both sides, and they went around the corners where they were less likely to be spotted. Octavio found a stone ledge to sit on and where he could spy them coming. The time seemed to drag on forever. And worse still, the sun had moved higher in the sky, revealing their hiding places.

A few minutes later, they spotted Niccolo wandering to the meeting

place. The kidnappers suddenly appeared, hidden behind a large cart. Octavio could barely make out where they were. However, it was apparent by the anger on Niccolo’s face that something was wrong.

“We believe you had someone follow you.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Then you won’t have any objection if we suggest another location.”

Niccolo didn’t move. “If you want to make the exchange, then do it now. Otherwise, I will run as fast as I can from you.”

He turned to go. One of the men put his hand on his shoulder, but Niccolo broke loose and began running away.”

“Stop,” said the old man. “We just wanted to make sure.” He nodded to another man who brought Tullia to stand beside the old man. “Now, you keep your part of the bargain. You for this lady.”

“Where are you taking me?”

The old man looked at his companion. “To Genoa, where you will be treated like a king. You will be given riches and become a leading figure, and thank us for bringing you there.”

“If you try to rush us, I will kill her.” Niccolo nodded and took a couple of steps in their direction as a bolt from one of the crossbows hit the throat of the man holding Tullia’s arm. The old man grabbed her arm and led her backwards with him, using Tullia as a shield.

“If you do, you’ll die in the next second.”

The old man took out his knife and held it to Tullia’s throat. Tullia started to cry and squirmed away from the knife. “I’m warming you. If you step closer to us, I will kill her. I’m old and near the end of my life anyway. So back off.”

Piero disappeared behind the building and made his way around them as the old man slowly backed away. Niccolo saw the old man glance at his companion. Something passed between them – an unspoken word. He understood almost immediately. The artist in him saw the expression on his face that resembled the old man. The companion backed further away.

“If your companion is trying to escape, we will make sure that he dies a terrible death.”

The older man’s face lost its colour. He stepped back, and Niccolo took two steps forward. “Give up before more people get hurt or killed.”

“All we want is the lady unharmed. Let her go, and you can walk away unharmed.” Niccolo could see fear in the old man’s eyes for the first time.

The old man stared at him as though he did not understand what Niccolo had just said. “Take a glance behind you. The lady’s husband has a crossbow aimed at your son. Your son will die if you harm her in any way.

And if you look at the soldier on my left, you will also see his crossbow is aimed at your son. He will never see the bolt coming.”

The old man relaxed his grip, and Tullia ran to Niccolo. Piero lowered his crossbow and ran toward them. “Now, go in peace before I change my mind. If you are smart, you will leave Florence this day and go back to Genoa. ”

The old man and his son turned and disappeared behind the building across the street from where they were standing.

Piero held her close and led her away as Niccolo and Octavio led them to a nearby army barracks. “Two men from Genoa kidnaped my wife,” said Piero, “and threatened to kill her if my friend, Niccolo, did not go away with them to Genoa.”

One of the soldiers spotted Octavio. “What’s this about?”

“My friend is an artist and a close friend of the d’Medici family. They want to take him to Genoa because they think he knows how to make a weapon that could be used against Florence.”

“I will report this to Giovanni d’Medici when we see him in the morning. Niccolo is painting his portrait,” said Octavio.

Tullia kept to herself for almost a week. Her kidnapping made her feel apprehensive. She was near her time, and one of the women known for her care in helping women give birth was asked to come and stay with her. She never opened the door to their room unless the person identified themselves. The woman, Fiametta, seemed to sense her panic and slowly helped her become her old self.

“What happened?” she said to Piero when she arrived to stay with Tullia.

“She was kidnapped and was threatened with death.”

Fiametta nodded and pushed back her greying hair. “She is such a lovely creature. You were lucky to marry her. She will bring you good luck.”

The baby, a girl who looked like Tullia, came a week later. Piero was banned from the room during the birthing and moved in with Niccolo. They celebrated by drinking a bottle of grappa. They both thought of Paolo and how he kept filling everyone’s glass.

Piero saw his daughter a couple of days later. It had been a difficult birth, but now everything had righted itself. “She is so beautiful. She looks like you, even down to the curl in her ear.” He paused, “I would like to call her Dolce after my mother.”

Tullia opened her arms and hugged him. That night he slept with Tullia and his daughter. ***

Captain Foscari appeared at their inn a month later, looking for Piero and Niccolo with the news. “Venice has a new doge and a new Council. I wanted to tell you this if ever you wish to return. You have become a fable in Venice, not for your discovery but as the favourite painter of the de Medicis.”

“How did you ever track us down?” said Piero. “Since we last saw each other, you dropped me off in the Papal Estates. Since then, we both made our way to Florence, where we are treated royally.”

Niccolo arranged a room for him at the inn and ate at his favourite restaurant. “They have Venetian and Bouliguese dishes that remind us of home.”

“Some other news. This time about the Prince. The Prince’s Bank has taken over your bank accounts.”

“We assumed that. The Prince had a very evil man track us down with orders to kill us,” said Niccolo, looking at Octavio.

“I was the guard at our barracks who locked him up after he attempted to kill one of our border guards. He admitted to me that he had been sent to murder Niccolo. He later died in prison. I am here to guard Niccolo against anyone who would try to kidnap him.”

They entered the restaurant not far from the inn and found seats near the orchestra pit, where a small orchestra played Florentine music and other popular Italian tunes. Foscari played in tune with his fingers on the tablecloth. The room was packed and the noise level was only drowned out when the orchestra played. The restaurant had two large windows – one at the front and one on the wall behind them, where you could see people walking. The servers, dressed in olive green uniforms – the restaurant’s main colour – weaved their way among the tables, carrying large trays of steaming spaghetti and grated cheese. The aroma of spaghetti bolognese drifted with a scent of pepperoni floated in the air. Finally, a young woman appeared in front of the orchestra pit. The noise level drifted away, and the band started playing a popular Florentine song of unrequited love. She sang with a feeling of sadness in her voice. When she finished, many diners stood, clapped, and threw coins at her and the orchestra.

The night ended with wine and popular liquors at a small winery closer to their inn. Octavio marched in front of them and occasionally backward to make sure they weren’t being followed.

Tullia rushed in and up the stairs to check on Dolce, who was being

looked after by the daughter of the check-in clerk.

Foscari bunked in with Niccolo, who packed away his easel and made a cot for himself. He had left a candle burning when they went for supper and lit three others when they returned. He gave Foscari his bed.

“I’m glad to see you, Captain. You’re a welcome guest. Piero always had a deep respect for you. I’m surprised you’re not hunting down pirates on the water.”

“So am I.” Then, he paused, “the Prince suddenly changed his mind one day, and when we returned to provision, I was visited by his emissary, who told me that the Prince desired to see me. When I hurried to his palace and was ushered in, I was told that he no longer wished me to hunt down pirates in his name.”

He bowed his head. “He also told me he was taking over the pirate ship and had confiscated my earnings in his bank. I was also told I was no longer welcome in Ferrara.”

“He sent someone to kill me,” said Niccolo, “and confiscated everything in my bank account.”

“We should have taken out all our money when we first left Ferrara. They blew out the candles and tried to sleep.

Niccolo woke up first, with ideas dancing in his head.

“I earn 100 gold florins for every portrait I paint. I also have more than 6,000 gold florins hidden away from portraits I’ve painted.”

Foscari was awake now and sitting on the edge of the bed. He waited for Niccolo to continue.

“What if we enter a partnership? You and Piero and me. I will finance the purchase of a ship.”

Foscari’s eyes glittered. “What if we got together my old crew, who are also out of work, and take over the pirate ship and sail her out into the Adriatic one moonless night?”

“What, indeed? We’ll talk it over with Piero after breakfast.”

They washed, trimmed their beards, changed clothes, and entered the ding room to find Piero, Tullia and their daughter already sitting and waiting for them.

“Captain Foscari and I have come up with the idea that could see us living back in Venice?”

Tullia looked apprehensive, but Piero could hardly wait to hear more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Niccolo’s first stop was to visit Giovanni di Bicci d’Medici, who was in the midst of breakfast with one of his sons, who now operated the House of Medici Bank. d’Medici waved him to their table. “Please join us and know what we bankers go through every morning. But I think you have something in your mind. We can talk once my son takes his leave.”

They were seated at the end of the table where 60 of Florence’s elite had supper with him the night before. d’Medici’s son left about 20 minutes later and shook hands with him.

“Now, what brings you to my table at this hour?”

“I need to return to Ferrara to complete business with the Prince.”

“Will you be returning?”

“I’m not sure. You have been like a father to me, and I owe you my honesty.”

d’Medici stood and put his arm around him. “You have given great joy to my friends and me. We are eternally grateful. I ask only one thing. If you are not returning, send a letter to me and let us know where we can reach you.”

Niccolo left saddened. It was like leaving his mother all over again. He wiped away a tear and headed back to the inn. Piero and Foscari had their heads together. Tullia got tired and left them with their daughter.

“I’ve told d’Medici that I was leaving Florence to handle some unfinished business in Ferrara. He asked me if I planned to return, and I told him I was not sure. He wished me good luck. I hated having to do this to him.”

They made plans to leave in a week. Piero resigned from the cannon battery, and they bought a coach with four horses to take them to Ferrara. They would reach the border if they started early.

They checked out of the inn at six o’clock. Tullia had the restaurant pack a large basket for them to take with them, along with a large bottle of water and two bottles of wine. Foscari was in charge of the coach. The four black horses were pawing the ground when they left the inn. They were on their way a few minutes later, driving past the d’Medici mansion and pausing to see Giovanni standing and waving to them.

They stopped the carriage, and Giovanni approached them.

“Would it be tackless of me to ask what you plan when you reach Ferrara?”

“It’s better you do not know.” Niccolo left the carriage and hugged him. “When we reach our final destination, is there a way for me to send you a letter?”

“We have branches in other republics. Just have one of them forward your letter to me.”

His son, Cosmo, passed him two bottles. “Just in case you get thirsty on the way. It’s from our grapes and bottled exclusively for the House of the Medici.”

Niccolo hugged him again and turned away, wiping away a tear. He sat up front with Foscari. He looked back and waved to Giovanni and his son as they turned onto the main road out of Florence and hardened his face for the road ahead. Tullia had breakfast for them when they paused an hour later under a large shade tree. They ate in the coach. Niccolo packed the bottles d’Medici and saved them for when they reached Venice.

The road took them past farms, villages and a few large towns, where they stopped to buy bread and cheese and fresh water and let the horses rest and get their fill of water. “These are pretty safe roads,” said Octavio, who took over from Foscari. “We must have seen a dozen or more soldiers ride past us and come our way. I hope it will be like that when we cross the border to Ferrara.”

They crossed the border to Farrara while the sun was still in the sky. Tullia sat up in front of Dolce and Piero. The road took them to the outskirts of Ferrara, where they stopped at a small inn. Octavio went to the young woman at the check-in counter and asked for four rooms. He paid her in advance and requested when they started breakfast. He returned and passed out the keys to Piero, Niccolo and Foscari.

They gathered at the inn’s dining room a half-hour later, a small room with no windows lit by two candles at each table. Niccolo counted seven

tables. “A good choice,” said Foscari. It’s not a place where we’re likely to find someone who knows us.”

They retired early. It had been a long day, and Octavio was worried about his future. It kept him awake much of the night, and he knocked at Niccolo’s door before going for breakfast.

“I’m not sure where I stand in all this,” he said while Niccolo was washing and trimming his beard.

“What’s this all about, Octavio? I hope you will be with us no matter where we go.” Then, after a pause, “I trust you completely. I do not know what I would do without you. If it’s a case of money, just ask.”

Octavio helped Niccolo don his doublet and followed him to the dining room. Foscari was already at a table and chatting up the waitress. He spotted them and raised his arm in a salute.

“Captain Foscari, this is my good friend, Octavio, who has looked after my safety since I was jailed in the Republic of Florence. Without him, I would probably not be here today. He’s also an experienced soldier and will be useful to you when we reach the river.”

Foscari held out his hand and patted his arm. “You will be of great use for what Niccolo and I have in mind. We’re here to take over a ship owned by the Prince d’Este, who sent someone to murder our friend, Niccolo. We’ll wait until Piero and his good wife join us and tell you exactly what we plan to do.”

Piero and Tullia arrived a few minutes later. Niccolo could see that she had been crying and took her hand and smiled at her. She tried to smile back but broke into tears again. “Why must we leave Florence? We were safe there, and we were prospering. Why do we have to do something that could land us all in prison for this republic and its leader, who would like to see us all dead?”

Piero put his arm around her, and Octavio smiled at her. “If we pull this off, and we will, it will forever change our lives. Especially yours, Tullia.”

She shook her head and looked at Piero again. He took her hand. “This Prince has cheated Niccolo, Captain Foscari and me. He scooped back all the money he had paid to us and sent someone to kill Niccolo. I would have been next.”

“We’ve decided to take over the pirate ship Captain Foscari, Niccolo and Piero captured. The Prince took it over and commissioned Captain Fiscari to turn it into a ship and hunt down pirate ships. He suddenly called Captain Fiscari that he was no longer required, confiscated all his money, and the ship now lies at anchor,” said Octavio.

“I will meet my old crew at noon at a tavern we gathered when we sailed together,” said Foscari. “I’ve just sent a runner with a message to my old mate to get the gang together to sail as a merchant ship.”

They gathered in Niccolo’s room for lunch and final instructions. Foscari had already left and promised to send his old mate to tell us when the coast was clear and when we could board the ship and sail down the river and into the Adriatic before the Prince even knew about it.”

“When will we be leaving here?” said Octavio.

“Immediately after supper, while it’s still light and coming on dusk. Octavio will set out this afternoon, sell our coach and horses, and arrange for a coach to pick us up when we leave the inn. “

***

Piero helped Tullia and their daughter into the coach. Niccolo emerged last after paying the inn. The coach set off at a leisurely pace. “We have an infant with us and don’t want her to get sick,” said Tullia to remind them.”

“Where are we headed?”

“To the harbour.”

They passed the barracks and down the road, where four soldiers stopped them. “Everyone out.”

Octavio, wearing his breastplate, went out first. “We have a sick infant on board. We are on the way to see a doctor.”

One of the guards looked inside and saw the infant, her mother, and two men. “You,” he said, pointing at Niccolo, “Get out.” Then, he turned to the others.

Niccolo started out. “Why are you doing this?”

“We have rumours that someone wanted by the Prince might be trying to escape from Farrara. He wants that man chained and brought before him.”

He grabbed Niccolo and threw him in the arms of the three other guards.

Ten minutes later, they stopped the coach. Piero helped Tullia and the baby out. Foscari appeared with his first mate a few feet away. “The ship is ready for boarding,” he said.

“We’ve got a problem. Four guards stopped us, and they took Niccolo.”

Foscari ran up the makeshift gangplank. He pointed to eight of the deckhands. “I want you to each get a crossbow and a sword and follow me. They grabbed the coach and told the driver to take them to where they were stopped. He snapped the reins three or four times and sent them flying down the road. Ahead, Foscari was seated upfront with the driver.

“Keep the horses at the same speed and run over them if you have to.

The guards moved on either side of the road, had their swords drawn, and ran to attack the driver. Niccolo saw his chance to escape and ran down the road as fast as he could. Foscari caught Niccolo flashing by them and smiled. The deckhands poured from the coach with their crossbows aimed at them. The guards stopped, not sure what to do next. Foscari aimed his crossbow at the lead guard. “One more step, and you’re a dead man.”

“That man is a fugitive from justice, and you will all swing if you do not immediately release him to our custody,” said their leader.

He took a couple of steps, and Foscari shot his crossbow at his legs. The bolt struck him in the thigh, and he fell, writhing in pain. The other three guards helped him to stand.

“Now, back off,” said Foscari. “The other crossbows are aimed at killing each of you before you reach us.”

They turned their backs and made a chair with their hands to carry their leader down the road. The driver turned their coach and raced back to the harbour, stopping to pick up Niccolo, who was breathing hard when they helped him board.

He didn’t speak for almost five minutes. “Any other problems?”

“Two or three deckhands, but they are bound and will be let free before we head out onto the Adriatic. And who knows, they might change their tune once they see the baby.”

Piero carried Dolce up the makeshift gangplank at the harbour, with the baby cradled in one arm and the other grabbing rope railing until he reached the deck where one of the deckhands held her in his arms. She started to cry, and he rocked her back and forth and started to sing to her. Octavio helped Tullia up, coming back of her in case she slipped and fell back. Niccolo and Foscari climbed aboard a few seconds later. One of the deckhands still onshore removed all the ropes while other deckhands reeled in the ropes.

The ship slowly moved out into the river. The helmsman steered it in a circle at the widest part of the harbour. The boat was skimming over the water as the wind picked up. Other hands had climbed the rigging to unfurl all the sails. One of the deckhands led Tullia down the stairway and to the first mate’s cabin. He opened the door for her and lit three candles to light the cabin. Tullia sat on the bed with Dolce in her arms and rocked her back and forth.

A half-hour later, the ship reached the outer port. They could see the harbourmaster trying to flag them down in the darkness. Foscari ignored him as their boat headed out into the Adriatic. Piero went down the stair-

way and knocked on the door of the first mate’s cabin before entering. He held Dolce as Tullia got ready for bed. “We’re in open water now, heading for Venice.”

He looked out the porthole and saw that the clouds had become even darker and that it had started to rain. There would be no one chasing them in the weather, he thought, as he snubbed out the candles and slipped beside Tullia and their daughter.

The cook came by in the morning with breakfast. Niccolo and Octavio joined them. Tullia looked around. The cabin was much larger than she saw it in daylight. There was even a closet where she could hang her clothes and a tiny bed, made by one of the deckhands, where she could lay Dolce at night. Tullia looked out the porthole, and all she could see was water.

She decided to go up top with the others. Octavio volunteered to look after the baby until she returned. Piero helped her up onto the deck. They both had to hold on to the railing to keep their balance as the ship rolled from side to side. She looked out onto the water. A handful of seagulls circled above them, hoping for scraps from the cook’s kitchen. The wind had also picked up, sending spray onto the deck. Tullia was hit by one of the sprays that left her face dripping. She started to feel sick and motioned to Piero to take her down the stairway again and into the room.

She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. Piero found her a small wooden box and placed it beside her bed. She vomited a couple of times. The room seemed to go around in circles when she opened her eyes. She groaned. Dolce slept through it all, and she glanced at her and tried to smile.

By nightfall, the sea had calmed, and Piero coaxed her to the deck again. A faint breeze blew into the sails from the South. Tullia walked around the deck, chatting briefly with some deckhands and thanking them for rescuing them. By the time supper was ready, she felt her old self again and decided to have supper with Piero and Dolce on deck with the others. They ate under starlight, and she marvelled at it all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Niccolo and Piero stood on the upper deck when the coastline came into sight. They had thought of seeing this for a long time. They looked at each other and smiled.

“Are you unhappy that I destroyed my formula?”

“It was a wise decision, one we should have made before we entered Ferrara,” said Piero, “but then again, I should not have met Tullia, and I would not have Dolce in my life.” Then after a pause, “what led you to that decision?”

“It was something the Pope said to me, that I should spend my talents helping people rather than devising new ways of killing them. It took a while to sink in, but when that woman destroyed my paintings, especially the one of my mother, it almost made me cry. That’s when I really understood what he meant.”

Tullia joined them when their ship turned the corner and headed into the inner harbour.

“There aren’t many roads in Venice,” said Niccolo.

“Then, how do you get around?”

“By gondolas. They take you wherever you want to go.”

“It sounds romantic.”

“Sometimes.”

There was no one there to greet them. Foscari led them off the ship. Tullia carried Dolce in her arms with Piero in front of her in case she tripped.

Octavio followed Niccolo, who lay on the pier and kissed the ground. He looked up at Foscari. “Tomorrow, I will come here with my paints and paint this beautiful place and your ship in it.”

“In the meantime, Piero promised my men a tour of Venice, its canals, beautiful ladies, bridges and incredible restaurants.”

“That will have to wait until tomorrow night. Right now, I need to see my mother and show her my beautiful wife and daughter,” said Piero.

Piero waved down a gondola da traghetto to take them across the Grand Canal and helped Tullia and Dolce on board. Niccolo, who grew up next to Piero, also jumped aboard. From there, they took another gondola down one of the side streets, past a number of bridges and to a small gondola station, where it parked. Piero got out first and helped Tullia and Dolce out. Then, they climbed the steps onto a small walkway and down a long street, where Piero stopped. “You go first, Niccolo.”

Niccolo rapped on the door. A couple of minutes later, he heard someone shuffling and going to the door. “Who is there?” he listened to his mother’s voice from behind the door.

“Niccolo.”

“My Niccolo is dead. The Doge’s people told me so.”

“They’re wrong. Just open the door.”

She opened the door a crack and then all the way. He threw his arms around her. “I’m back. Back to stay this time.”

He felt her tears on his cheek, picked her up and carried her inside.

Piero and Tullia watched, transfixed until Tullia jabbed him. He rapped hard on the door. His father was saying something he could not quite hear. The door finally opened. His father grabbed the edge of the door to help him stand while his mother put her arms around him and dragged him inside.

Piero stopped her. He turned around and held out his hand to Tullia. “This is my wife, Tullia. And my daughter, who is named after you. His mother, looking much older, put her arms around Tullia and kissed the baby.

“I never thought I would ever see you again, let alone bring me a granddaughter. What am I saying? Come in and make yourselves comfortable. What do you want for supper? Your old favourite?”

“Ask Tullia. I like everything you make.”

Tullia smiled, gave Dolce to Piero, and followed his mother into the kitchen. It was exactly as he remembered it, except for the table. The green paint had peeled off the legs in patches. His mother was making spaghetti. She added more flour to the mix before using a roller to flatten the dough

a few times to make it as thin as possible while his father played with her tiny hand and kissed her forehead. His mother popped her head outside the kitchen door. “Your old bedroom is exactly the way you left it. But not quite. I made your bed.”

After supper, his mother took Tullia upstairs to Piero’s old bedroom and helped her hang up all their clothes in a special closet Piero’s father had made for him. “If this does not meet with your approval, we have a larger room on the top floor, but it’s another flight of stairs.” It looked out onto the backyard, where his father kept a few chickens.

“No, this will do us perfectly. But I would like to see the room on the top level. Dolce will want a bedroom of her own one day.”

They climbed the stairs to the top floor. The stairs were dusty and had not been washed in months. She opened the door into a large room twice the size of Piero’s. It had a dormer window at the back that looked out onto a small garden, where Piero’s father had a small garden. This would be hers one day, Tullia thought and smiled as she considered what she and Piero would turn it into.

Niccolo followed his mother into the kitchen, where he dropped his travel bag.

“When did you arrive in Venice?”

“About an hour ago. Piero and I took a gondola here. He and his wife and baby are with his family now.”

“Piero has a family?” Her voice had an accusatory tone. He had heard this tone many times after his father had died, and he had to look after things. He changed the subject and asked about her arthritis.

“The same. It hurts only before a rain. Like today.”

Niccolo nodded. “I’ve been through a lot, and so has Piero.”

“Do you have any money?”

He nodded. “Quite a lot, in fact.” He reached into his bag and withdrew a smaller leather bag where he kept his florins. He opened the drawstring and poured a pile of gold florins on the table.

“Where did you get this money? Did you steal it? Is that why you came back?”

“No. I earned it from painting portraits of some very famous people, which reminds me. Is the old easel my father made for me still in my bedroom?”

She nodded. “Everything is the same, the way you left it.” She reached out to hold him close. Tears streamed from her eyes.

JIM CARR

Piero met Foscari’s crew at the harbour. They were all dressed in their best clothes, along with Foscari, who decided to go with them. “It’s the same place we met a couple of years ago, and I hear it’s even better than it was then.”

Piero led them down the gondola station and hired three gondolas to take them to the tavern he first took Niccolo. It seemed like an eternity ago, even though it was only a year. He wished Niccolo was with him but knew from his mother that Niccolo’s mother was having health problems. She was forgetting things, and her arthritis was getting far worse.

He opened the door and led them to the best tables in the tavern. Serena spotted him as soon as he entered and helped them get settled. “So you’ve come back. Did Niccolo come with you?”

“He is with his mother. He’s different now.”

“Is he married?” Serena looked even more beautiful than he remembered. Her face seemed to shine in the light from the candle on the table, and she walked with an assurance she had not had before.

Piero shook his head. “He is uncomfortable around women in general.”

Piero caught the light in her eyes. “I’ll tell him you were asking about him.”

“Please do not. If he is interested and hears that I am still at the tavern, it’s up to him to come.”

She left to make three trips to bring back pitchers of the tavern’s favourite wine and four pitchers of German beer, a new addition to their menu. They ate their fill and began singing bawdy songs until the entire tavern joined in, including Octavio. They returned to the ship shortly after midnight.

Piero made it home and brought along Octavio. He stopped at Niccolo’s door and rapped loudly. Niccolo was awakened by his pounding and came to the door in a foul mood. When he saw Piero and Octavio standing there, he opened the door wide and invited them in.

“Just for a minute. I must get back before Tullia decides to leave me. We had a rousing good time at the tavern. You would have loved it. Serena was there and looking just as lovely as she did when we left.”

Niccolo’s face brightened, but he didn’t respond and focused on Octavio. “Do you have a place to stay?”

Octavio shook his head. “I was hoping I could bunk with you. Unfortunately, Piero’s house is full.”

“By all means,” said Niccolo, taking his bag.

Piero rose and went to the door. “We need to talk tomorrow with Fos-

cari and set up our company and drum up some business for him.”

Niccolo nodded and watched Piero leave, walking the same way he walked as a boy. He turned to Octavio. “Follow me upstairs. You’ll have to sleep with me tonight until we find a proper place for you here. My mother is not quite herself these days.”

“I understand,” he said as they went up the steps to Niccolo’s bedroom. The easel was in the centre of the room, and moonlight flowed in from the window on the opposite wall.

Octavio undressed and went to sleep almost at once. Niccolo suddenly felt very tired, as though a huge weight was lifted from his back, and went to sleep in peace. He dreamed of Serena and wondered if she had married.

At breakfast, his mother was surprised to see Octavio and felt a bit uncomfortable. “He saved my life more than once,” said Niccolo. “We all owe him our gratitude for what he did for me.”

His mother hugged Octavio. “My name is Fiora.”

There was a knock at the door. Niccolo rose to see who it was, but his mother beat him to it. “Stay put. It’s just one of my friends who often visits me at this hour.”

She opened, and Serena walked in with his mother’s arm around her. “This is Serena.”

“How are you, Niccolo?”

“Never better.”

Serena looked even more beautiful than she did when we last saw her. There was a special glow about her now. Her chestnut brown hair gleamed in the sunlight from the window. Her face was thinner, and she walked with the confidence of someone sure of herself. Octavio watched Niccolo with interest. He had never seen him react this way to any other woman.

“How long have you been seeing my mother?”

“We became friends shortly after you left,” said his mother. “She told me that she knew you and, like me, was worried about you.”

Serena and his mother went into the kitchen and talked about his favourite dishes. Niccolo stuck his head inside. “I must go now. Piero and I and Captain Foscari have business to discuss. We are starting a new company.” He looked at Serena for a few seconds. Their eyes met. “I would like to paint you one day.”

Serena nodded. “When and where?”

Niccolo went to the back of the kitchen and looked at the flower garden his mother had planted. “I would like to paint you there.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TheDoge rose to greet him when Niccolo entered his audience chamber.”Welcome home, Signore Billini. We have heard great things about you. You have made Venice famous as a place for great artists. The new Doge was older than his predecessor and had a kind voice. He rose to shake Niccolo’s hand. “Many things have changed since you left Venice. Hopefully, it will be for the better. We don’t persecute our talented and brilliant citizens and do not attempt to kill our inventors, no matter if they wish to promote their discoveries elsewhere.”

He was more popular than the previous Doge and, like the new council, focused on increasing Venice’s incredible wealth through trade. He had the gift of making everyone feel indispensable in making things happen.

“You are known throughout Italy as one of its great painters, and I hope we can entice you to paint our new council and remain in Venice as our foremost artist.”

“Thank you for telling me this. I was treated royally by the Medici family, who wished I had remained with them. Giovanni de Medici treated me as though I were his son. But you have made me feel at home, safe and where I can live out the rest of my days.”

The Doge rose again and put his arm on Niccolo’s shoulder. “We are counting on you to make Venice proud. Call on us at any time should problems arise.”

He took a gondola to the harbour to meet with Piero and Foscari to set up an agreement among them. They met in Fiscari’s cabin, where they sat at his table with a scribe to draw an agreement among the three of them and witness their undertaking.

“Do we need a name?” said Piero.

They looked at the scribe. “You do not. But with the growth of trade

not only in Italia but in the Mediterranean, you might find it useful to create a name for your enterprise. Moreover, it helps to distinguish your group from others, who may not be as trustworthy as you, and how your trading goods are among the best.”

“Any suggestions?” said Foscari.

“Enterprise,” said Niccolo.

“That’s it?”

They looked at the scribe. “Short titles are best. They stand out and are easy for people to remember.” The scribe had ink on his fingers from hundreds of letters and other documents he had created over the years. He gave up trying to rub it off a long time ago. He wore a brown cap over his greying hair, and the sleeves of his doublet looked threadbare.

“What about “Canal?” said Foscari.

They looked at the scribe again. “That’s excellent as well. You could join them together.”

Foscari mouthed Enterprise Canal. “It takes too long to say. Enterprise is fine, and so is Canal. I suggest we vote on it.”

In the end, they all chose Enterprise. “It sounds more businesslike,” said Foscari, feeling pleased with himself.

“Next, we need a description for your business,” said the scribe. They looked at Piero. “To buy and sell goods from Venice and other city states and countries in the Mediterranean.”

“Next, you need to determine how much each partner holds.”

Piero and Foscari looked at Niccolo. “We each will be equal partners,” said Niccolo.

“My ship will be part of Enterprise as well,” added Foscari.

“And finally, the role each shareholder will play in Enterprise.”

Foscari spoke first, “I will be Enterprise’s travelling merchant, responsible for shipping goods from one place to another. “

“I would take on the responsibility of finding merchants everywhere who want us to sell their goods to us or others,” said Piero.

The scribe was writing furiously and paused to look at Niccolo. “I will provide the founding capital and help arrange larger sums through financial houses in Venice and Florence. Plus, help Enterprise create a special mystic about it among bankers, merchants and with people of importance.”

“I’m hungry, Captain Foscari, “said Piero. “Could you arrange for the cook to bring us lunch before we leave?”

“One last thing, gentlemen. I will create three documents for each of you to sign, and a fourth also signed for my safekeeping should there be a disagreement down the road.”

***

Piero returned home to discuss their agreement with his wife and mother. “It means that we’ll be travelling around the Mediterranean. Not immediately, perhaps a year or two from now.”

“I also have news. Your mother and I visited Niccolo’s mother, who introduced me to a young woman who calls on her often.”

“Is she still there?”

“Yes,” she said with a wide smile. His mother also smiled at him.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure he knows now. I left him opening the door to his house.” ***

Niccolo opened the door and saw Serena eating fried spaghetti with her mother. Serena saw him enter and moved to make room beside her. “Your mother has asked me to come and live with you both.”

She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her large Etruscan eyes shot arrows into him, and he wanted to suddenly hold her close.

Instead, he told them about the agreement they had drawn up between mouthfuls of spaghetti and the name of their new enterprise, and each person’s role in the enterprise.

Serena rose and left them for a few minutes, returning with a young child in her arms.

“Say hello to your beautiful daughter.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jim Carr’s adventure with words began as a teacher of Latin grammar for the first five years. He studied Latin for seven years and holds a degree in Classics and English. He has written a Latin Grammar called Lingua Latina, Latin for Beginners.

It was followed by a lengthy career in print journalism at two daily newspapers as a reporter, copy editor, columnist and editor. He left journalism to become a communications specialist for a number of national and international corporations and institutions.

In retirement, he returned to journalism a as associate editor of Spa Canada magazine and a freelancer for other publications. He has also written an eBook about 50+ outstanding Thai resorts, and their spas in Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai, Pattaya, Hua Hin, Koh Samui, Krabi, and Phuket called Spa Magic Collection. His blog about Tai resorts and spas -thaispasnow.wordpress.com

Five mystery novels, Abbot’s Moon, The Door, Gravediggers, Rogues Retreat, and Death Star and his book of short stories, Betrayal, are available as ebooks and print books. His other books include There’s Always Tomorrow, a historical romance; Yesterdays, The Book of the Dead, set in 1936 Italy.