She wondered if they would find a hare or a partridge, and whether Nicco would kill it-and whether she would be able to bring herself to look, rather than turn away as she often did when faced with the sight and smell of blood.

She thought of and then brushed away the memory of her mother's body split open from chest to just below the naval. She smelled the hot blood and felt her father shaking with sobs and watched between her fingers as the midwife pulled Dodo out, still in his caul.

Alessandra held on tighter to Nicco and pressed her cheek against his back, willing the image away. She felt some comfort in knowing that he, too, had been there and seen what she had seen. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to their mother, asking her to watch over them.

They spent that first day in the border of sunlight and gloom at the edge of the forest. Alessandra practiced climbing up and down off Nero's back, using the low branches of a tree as her ladder. She learned the proper way to tie Nero to the tree-which turned out to be the same as the bookbinder's knot she'd seen so many times before but never bothered to learn how to make. She and Nicco climbed the tree and found some feathers that Nicco said were the remains of a red falcon's meal. And Nicco told her how this was a falcon he hoped to trap one day and train to hunt with him.

They sat in the canopy of the tree, and Nicco, in a whisper, told her everything he knew about the sounds they heard there: the names of birds, and which were good to eat and which made songs so beautiful that it would be a sin to kill them, especially now that the years of rain were over, and not nearly so many peasants were dying of hunger as before.

To both of them, the tree seemed filled with the breath of G.o.d. When they climbed down, they saw that this tree was part of a ring of trees growing around a clearing. Nicco stuck his fingers inside a mound of leaves at the base of the roots and pulled out a mushroom that was shining white and the size of Alessandra's thumb, with a slantwise cap as delicate looking as a piece of skin.

Alessandra's eyes grew even wider than they were already in the half-light of the clearing. "Isn't that-?"

"The very kind our own dear Cook once paid for with a fine, plump hen-and Father had her flavor a broth with it that he served to the Bishop."

"I saw nothing before you dug it out! How did you know it was there?"

Nicco screwed up his face, trying but failing to find the clue that had let him know. "Perhaps the way the leaves there looked a little more disturbed-but I think it's something else about things that are hidden underground. I just feel them sometimes-like heat, only it's not heat, but something else."

It was Alessandra's turn to be rapt with admiration. Her heart beat a little faster, thinking about how there might well be as many wonders beneath the surface of things as there are above, if one could but figure out how to see them.

They untied Nero and walked deeper into the woods. Nicco found the delicate skull of a vole and the scat of the bear that had eaten the animal. The horse clearly didn't like being there. "But how can he know," asked Alessandra, "that a bear was here, perhaps weeks before?"

"Because bears, like all creatures, have their pathways-and Nero no doubt smells or else somehow senses the presence of the bear, from whenever it pa.s.sed by and ate this vole."

Alessandra took the clean, white, beautiful skull-as delicate as the carved ivory elephant she once saw in a stall in the marketplace in Bologna, when her mother had taken her along to buy spices. Alessandra had been allowed to hold the tiny elephant in the palm of her hand.

She wrapped the vole's beautiful little skull carefully in a broad leaf and put it in the pocket where it was most likely to stay safe and whole.

By the end of the day, she had a new respect for her brother, filthy hands, and an ache inside her to find out more. "No wonder you find Aristotle dull, Nicky! Why read about learning, when the entire world spreads its wonders at our feet?"

They ate the hunk of dried fish and two hard rolls Nicco had taken from the kitchen when Cook's back was turned. (In fact, she had seen him-but she doted particularly on the Master's elder son, and allowed him the pleasure of thinking he was outsmarting her.) Then they went to a special little place Nicco knew about, beside a stream, and gorged themselves on blackberries until their teeth were blue.

Alessandra nearly fell asleep as she rode behind her brother on the way home. She was roused by the sound of the church bells tolling Vespers, telling her that they'd stayed away too long, and that even if Pierina had played her part brilliantly, there was no way Alessandra's absence from home could have gone unmarked.

Nicco pleaded ignorance about Alessandra's whereabouts when he reached the table, dirty and out of breath, midway through the meal. Pierina blushed to the roots of her blond hair.

"Well, young lady," said their father, c.o.c.king his head to one side.

Taking a big swallow of water from her goblet, Pierina nearly choked. "I thought she was with Nicco," she spluttered between coughs. "Cross my heart and hope to die!"

"Hush, child," said her stepmother. "You ought to be more careful about what you say."

Carlo Giliani glanced across the table at Nicco, who could almost look at him eye to eye now. Nicco tried his best, without any words at all, to plead with his father: It will be bad for Alessandra if you pursue this! It will be bad for Alessandra if you pursue this! He chose the biggest piece of bread on the platter at the center of the table, and then heaped some fish for himself on top of it. "My favorite sauce!" he said to no one, a little too cheerfully. He chose the biggest piece of bread on the platter at the center of the table, and then heaped some fish for himself on top of it. "My favorite sauce!" he said to no one, a little too cheerfully.

Ursula banged the flat of her palm on the table, making the crockery tremble. "Where is your firstborn sister?"

Pierina's goblet fell to the floor, where it broke in several jagged pieces on the alternating black and white tiles.

"You will be the death of me, you three!"

"Ecco! Here she is," said Nicco, staring past his stepmother's head at the doorway, where Alessandra stood, dressed as herself again. She stretched and yawned in a perfect mime of sleepiness, as if she'd just woken. Her curly hair looked even more untidy than usual, and her cap was askew. Nicco could sense rather than see the rapid beating of her heart beneath her shift, as if she were a rabbit in a trap. Here she is," said Nicco, staring past his stepmother's head at the doorway, where Alessandra stood, dressed as herself again. She stretched and yawned in a perfect mime of sleepiness, as if she'd just woken. Her curly hair looked even more untidy than usual, and her cap was askew. Nicco could sense rather than see the rapid beating of her heart beneath her shift, as if she were a rabbit in a trap.

Ursula turned around, and Alessandra curtsied. "Forgive me, Mother"-she nodded at Ursula. "Father"-at Carlo. She had almost made it to her place at the table when Ursula grabbed her-altogether too hard-by the wrist, pulling her up short.

Alessandra looked into her stepmother's oddly amber-colored eyes, but couldn't find even one drop of love for her there. She made herself remember her mother's soft brown eyes and how they grew warmer and even darker when they lit on her, smiling and filled with love. Alessandra looked at the amber eyes and said the words, slowly and softly, inside her heart: My mother loved me. My mother loved me.

"Your hands," said Ursula, her voice perfectly calm.

"Madame?"

Ursula's voice was a tad more urgent when she spoke again. "Show me your hands!"

Disengaging herself from Ursula's grasp, Alessandra shot a pleading look at her father.

"Amore," he said, "the fish is getting cold."

"Your hands!" Ursula repeated in a voice as cold as the river from which the fish had been hauled up in a net that morning.

Alessandra raised her hands up and held them out, palms up. Ursula grabbed the candelabra and drew it closer to the edge of the table, dripping wax onto the white cloth.

"Turn them over!"

There was still dirt and mud and blackberry juice under Alessandra's nails. A drop of hot wax fell on the back of her hand. Alessandra flinched but didn't cry out. Another drop fell.

She thought about Aristotle's treatise on bees: how bright and shiny bees are idle-like women. (It pained her that Aristotle never had anything good to say about women!) How honey falls from the air when the stars are rising in the night sky or the rainbow rests upon the Earth. How bees produce their young from the flowers of honeysuckle, reed, and olives. She reflected on all this and wondered how the first candlemaker ever thought of embedding a wick inside a rod of beeswax to conquer the darkness of night.

Nicco shot his own dirty hands out into the wavering circle of light. "Pierina told the truth, Madame-my hands are a fair match for Alessandra's."

Pierina knelt down on the floor to gather the broken pieces of crockery.

"Leave that!" Ursula looked from one child to the other. Alessandra, still lost in thought, was staring at the beeswax on her hand-thinking how, even in the candlelight, it wedded itself to the smallest subtlety of the surface of her skin. That is how the goldsmith plies his art, she remembered-making a ring or a brooch first in wax, and then filling the place inhabited by wax with gold.

Ursula's voice was quite shrill now. "What were you doing to get such dirty hands?"

Nicco reached inside his doublet and brought out the mushroom they'd found in the forest. "We were going to give it to Cook, Madame, and it was to be a surprise for you."

Carlo Giliani's face broke into a broad smile. "By the saints!" he swore. "I didn't think I'd ever see another of those in my lifetime! Well done, Nic!"

Ursula again looked from child to child, ending with Alessandra, whose face she caressed softly, so that the girl had to look up and meet her eyes. How, How, thought Alessandra, thought Alessandra, can the hands feel so soft when the eyes look so hard? can the hands feel so soft when the eyes look so hard?

"Clever girl!" Ursula said quietly, all the shrillness gone now from her voice. But her eyes bespoke mistrust of clever girls-mistrust and fear. She rang the little bell that sat at her place on the table.

The servant stepped out of the shadows to clear away the cold fish and the pile of sodden bread in the middle that would be given away as alms the following day, outside the church.

Alessandra slipped away and took her place at the long table, between Nicco and Pierina, who wiped her saucy fingers on the tablecloth. Keeping her eyes downcast, Alessandra gave both her brother and sister a friendly pat under the table as the servant brought in a joint of meat. The food smelled good to her after her long day out of doors. She felt capable of eating the entire joint herself-and she no sooner had this thought than promised herself to confess her gluttony and repent of it at church first thing in the morning.

"Have you heard?" Ursula asked her family brightly after she'd taken her first bite of mutton on the point of her knife. "A witch is going to be burned tomorrow in the square. Alessandra, cara cara, would you pa.s.s the salt cellar, please?"

Five

Alessandra said her prayers and hung her gown, kirtle, and stockings on the rod that kept them out of reach of the mice, then jumped under the covers, next to Pierina, who was already naked. stockings on the rod that kept them out of reach of the mice, then jumped under the covers, next to Pierina, who was already naked.

"Get your feet away from me!" Pierina cried.

Alessandra slipped out of her chemise and put it on top of the covers with her sister's. "I'm frozen!"

"Come closer then. But not the feet-not yet!"

The two smooth and silky girls cuddled together. After a time, Pierina said, "I fear for you, Alessandra!"

"I fear for myself! That was as much as a threat tonight. Where in Persiceto has someone discovered a witch?"

"It's the old wet-nurse-the one who was convinced you were a changeling!"

"She must be even madder now than she was back then, living in that hovel at the edge of the swamp and without a friend in the world."

"The crier said she'd caused the death of three babies!"

Alessandra thought about how close she herself had come to dying by the same hand. "Did she-stab them?"

"She wasn't actually anywhere near them. But the authorities found rue in her pockets. Oh, Alessandra-they say it is the favorite plant of witches!"

"And what if that mushroom Nic found had been the favorite fungus of sorcerers? Would that make him one?"

"That's different!"

"It's only different because Nic has friends. Whereas the old wet-nurse has none."

"If her hand hadn't been stayed by our mother nearly twelve years ago, Zan-Zan, you wouldn't be here."

What Pierina said was true. Who could Alessandra count on now to help her, if someone else imagined they saw the Devil's traces on her-or simply said so, out of jealousy or spite? Her father, who would do anything to protect her, was away so much of the time.

She nested her two feet-warm now-against Pierina's. "Sometimes I think the only thing for me is to go away."

"And then you'd you'd be friendless! And with that heart of yours so stuffed with learning, you'd be accused straightaway. You mustn't! Unless-" be friendless! And with that heart of yours so stuffed with learning, you'd be accused straightaway. You mustn't! Unless-"

"Unless?"

"Unless it's to marry."

"And let myself be poked by a hairy devil of a husband who would keep me pregnant, year after year, until-"

"Don't say it!" They were both thinking about their mother-Alessandra of the grisly night of their mother's death, when her corpse was split open to release the as-yet-unbaptized Dodo so that her soul could fly to Heaven and watch over them. Pierina remembered it only as a tale, partially told to her-judiciously censored-by Nicco and Alessandra. "Our stepmother says that I mustn't be afraid. That as many women as die in childbirth live to take joy in the baby they've brought into the world."

"And yet she has never done it."

"It is her sorrow that she herself is barren."

"I wonder," said Alessandra. "She doesn't seem particularly sorrowful to me."

"Will you go tomorrow?"

"To the burning? Certainly not. People were glad enough to heed the old woman's counsel during the years of rain and, afterwards, during the years of rot, when she could tell them which wild plants are safely eaten. How many peasant families did she save from starvation?"

"G.o.d's mercy saved them, Alessandra, as you know perfectly well!" There was a silence. "It might seem odd," Pierina ventured, "if you don't go."

"I'll spend the hours in church instead."

Pierina kissed her sister's back, just between her shoulder blades. "Good girl," she said. "That will be the safest place for you to be. Make sure someone sees you there!"

"G.o.d will see me."

"Make sure someone else sees you there."

"Go to sleep, Pierina-may the angels watch over both of us!"

"And Nicco and Dodo..."

"And Father..."

But they were both fast asleep before any other words could be spoken.

After she came back from church, Alessandra hid herself in the workshop to start reading a book her father had just borrowed from the Dominican priory. It was a newly discovered text from Avicenna, the princely Persian scholar-lately translated into Latin by a visiting monk from Toledo.

Carlo had paid a handsome price (in the form of a donation to the friars) to borrow a copy of Avicenna's treatise from the monastery, knowing that it would be much in demand at the medical school in Bologna. Old Fabio had been working such long hours on copying it-and complaining so piteously about his aching back and failing eyes-that Carlo resolved to hire another, younger artist and scribe as soon as one possessing the requisite skill could be found.

The book contained many ill.u.s.trations, all of which needed to be rendered as accurately as the text. A wealthy man but still a thrifty one, Carlo regarded with horror the heavy fines levied by the University of Bologna on stationers who didn't make sure the books they published were faithfully copied from the original. Several mistakes in one year's time, and his university commission would be revoked. And where would Carlo's family be then, if this-the greater part of his livelihood, and the basis of his reputation-were taken away?

Alessandra read undisturbed until she knew she'd be missed-and then joined her family in the kitchen. All through breakfast, she pondered the words she'd read, many of which had made no sense to her at all. Was it the translation, she wondered-most likely from Persian to Hebrew and then into Latin-that rendered the words so difficult to pa.r.s.e? Or was it the nature of the thoughts themselves?