Part 14 (1/2)

Fifteen

Alessandra, still wearing Mina's dress but with the cloak thrown over her arm, walked through the twilight into the crooked alleys of the district where the midwives and witches of Bologna were said to practice their arts. over her arm, walked through the twilight into the crooked alleys of the district where the midwives and witches of Bologna were said to practice their arts.

She found herself on a street filled exclusively with women, apart from the urchins rus.h.i.+ng about in their last games before heeding their mothers' calls to come indoors. The stars began to bloom in an inky sky of periwinkle blue.

She stopped at an apothecary's stall, noting that the building looked a bit larger and better maintained than those on either side of it. Ducking inside, she saw jars and pots of herbs and tinctures lined up in neat rows on shelves behind the counter. A young girl sat on the floor, pounding some kind of root to a powder in a large mortar made of bronze. There was a fire burning in the grate, and the herbs hanging in dried bunches from the ceiling gave the place the scent of the wild hills Alessandra used to wander with Nicco.

The sign outside had the symbol of women healers along with the name of the proprietor.

Alessandra bowed to the woman who stood behind the counter sorting through a large pile of mushrooms. ”Dame Edita, I presume?”

”I don't do abortions,” the woman said without looking up from her sorting. ”Go to Mistress Fulvia's, right at the first crossing and second under the portico.”

”I'm in need of a room,” said Alessandra, putting one of Otto's silver coins on the counter.

Dame Edita sighed, wiped her hands, and picked up the coin. Then she looked with narrowed eyes at Alessandra. ”I have a room upstairs I've rented out from time to time.” She looked at the unblemished young woman who stood before her. ”It is few, the number of people who choose to live in this quarter if they don't have to. And you'd better know, miss, if you'll pardon me for saying so, that I will not allow prost.i.tution in my house.”

”I am a student in the medical school-and there you have it, Signora Signora, my reason for wanting to stay here, where the men of Bologna know they are not welcome.”

”Well, then-perhaps the room will suit you. It's simple but clean.”

Alessandra smiled at her gratefully. ”I'm sure it will suit me well-for both the refuge and the proximity to your craft. There is much that I would learn from the women healers of Bologna.”

”That's the first time such a thing has been said to the likes of me by any scholar of the University.”

”And none too soon,” said Alessandra, accepting a gla.s.s of mead and sitting down. ”I am no wh.o.r.e, Signora Signora, but I am about to be married in secret-and my bridegroom will come to stay with me here sometimes. We agreed it would be the only place we could safely meet as man and wife, since in public I must go about in men's clothes-for my own safety, as I'm sure you understand.”

The apothecary took all this in, nodding. ”I will appreciate having someone here who can read. And I will be glad to teach you whatever I know. For far too long there has been no pa.s.sageway between the two worlds of healing.”

Nicco reached Mondino's long before his father. A very surprised Mina received him in the family's grand salon. ”You're Sandro's brother?” she asked this tall and broad-faced youth with blue eyes.

”I am, Signora Signora-and it's most urgent that I speak with her. Him!”

Mina laid a hand on his arm. ”She's safe-you needn't fear.”

”You know?”

Mina nodded.

”Our father is on his way, for other purposes-and he doesn't know that Alessandra is here.” He wiped the sweat from his eyes. ”I must warn her!”

Mina said, ”They'll be hard to find at this hour.”

”They?”

”Your sister has become-most attached to another boarder here, her fellow in the medical school.”

”Oh, that's just terrific,” said Nicco. ”When Father has it in his mind to get her married straightaway.” He looked at Mina. ”You say 'attached.' As fellow to fellow?”

”I'm afraid their attachment is of a more...pa.s.sionate nature.”

Nicco held his head in his hands. ”If Signore Agenio doesn't kill him, then our father will-or he'll kill Father and we'll all be orphaned.”

”Signore Agenio?” Mina started laughing.

”I do not speak in jest, Madame!”

”I'm sure you don't, dear young sir. But I doubt Signore Agenio would kill himself-and he'd certainly not want to harm his future father-in-law!” She smiled kindly at Nicco. ”And, anyway, Otto is a most gentle and genial young man.”

”Holy Mother of G.o.d-excuse me, Signora Signora! Is it possible...?”

”It seems to be,” said Mina, grabbing her cloak. ”And I think we had better go find Sandro and tell him that his days are numbered.”

Arriving at the Porta San Felice, Carlo was surprised at how worn out he felt. Once through the gate, he stopped at a tavern in the parish where Otto Agenio was said to lodge, thinking to refresh himself while finding out how to get there.

The tavern was dark and shadowy, lit only by a single candle and the firelight. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Carlo made out a sight that both shocked and upset him: two young men, hidden in a corner together and locked lip to lip in a pa.s.sionate embrace.

He winced and looked away. And to think his own daughter had begged him to let her come and live in this corrupt and sinful place! How right he'd been to refuse her.

”I'm looking,” he said to the barman who poured his drink, ”for a medical student named Otto Agenio, said to board at the home of Magister Mondino.” He put a coin down on the counter. ”Do you have a boy who could show me the way?”

”There is no need, governor,” the barman said.

”Is Mondino's house so close by?”

”Not exceedingly close, but...” The barman began to speak in an exaggeratedly loud voice. ”But if someone wanted to find-Otto Agenio-he wouldn't have far to go.”

There was no one else in the tavern but Carlo, the barman, the two men besotted with each other, and a marmalade cat curled up and purring by the fire. The two men sat apart now, one trying madly to hide his face in the folds of his cloak.

Carlo looked back at the barman, who nodded. ”Oh, Lord,” he said, holding his head in his hand. And then, ”I will not countenance it!” He drank down his drink in one toss and straightened his clothes. ”Signore Agenio,” he boomed, ”you might well hang your head in shame before the man who was prepared to give you his precious daughter!”

But it was the other man, the taller one, who came toward him. He faced Carlo, then extended his hand to his lover, a slender man who seemed hardly older than a boy, as Carlo now saw when he raised his pretty face and spoke the word, ”Papa!”

Carlo staggered backward, tripped on the cat, and nearly fell into the fire.

Alessandra ran straight into his arms. ”Can you ever forgive me?”