Page 56

Though Lucia did not grasp his meaning exactly, she understood well enough she was the butt of a joke. “How dare you suggest such a thing, that I would dirty my dress on this disgusting floor!”

“Oh, come off it, from the looks of it, you’ve kneeled down in far worse.”

Lucia remembered that she was wearing Antonella’s old dress—without her own fine garments, she was subject to the crass treatment of a common woman.

“Well, actually, I haven’t, so—don’t say I have!” she retorted, dropping coins obediently into his greasy, outstretched palm. The maybe-monk stashed them, and passed her a rough earthen vessel filled to the brim. She clutched it to her chest and looked over the crowded benches of strange faces, not seeing any open place for herself.

“Brother, where shall I sit?” she inquired of the monk.

She really was making it too easy for him.

“Right here,” he replied, grabbing himself. A few nearby patrons sniggered.

“I do not believe you are a monk!” said Lucia, mortified. The nearby patrons lost all composure.

“Look, darling, you don’t want to mess with that,” said a disheveled drunk, between guffaws. “I’ve got a nice straight one, sit on me instead.”

Lucia looked around desperately and decided to move back toward the door, the farthest point from the rude men. She spotted a man and woman in conversation near to the entrance. Surely, in the company of a woman she’d be safer from terrible jokes. Also, it was usually easier to get gossip out of couples, since they were always trying to show off to the third party how witty they were. Right. Forget the monk and his drunks. She was going to ply this couple with drink, and ask them about the thief once their wits had been dulled. She made her way through the crowd, bumping into everyone and spilling her wine all over.

“Hey, watch it, whore!”

“Excuse me, pardon, I’m so sorry!”

She reached the couple.

“Salve,” she said in greeting, interrupting their conversation.

“Salve,” said the man warily, eyeing the carnage of wine-soaked patrons behind her.

When Lucia did not speak further, the woman asked, “Can we help you?”

“Oh, yes! May I barter some wine for a seat?”

“Certainly,” said the woman. Lucia made a move to sit down.

“Providing,” she continued, “that you first tell us where you come from.”

“From Florence, of course.”

“But where in Florence?” said the man.

Lucia remembered how Pampinea had been afraid to come near her, and decided a small lie was the best way forward. “In the...parish of Santa Croce. Not so far from here. I heard this was the best place to find others of my own disposition, that is, alive and enjoying themselves.”

The lady laughed at the small witticism, relaxing. “Santa Croce, it’s still alright there. They still have their relic of the cross. Come, sit. My name is Maria and this here is my man, Lorenzo.”

“Charmed,” beamed Lorenzo, visibly tipsy now that his guard was down.

Maria moved over to make room on her bench. “What’s your name, darling?”

“I am Lucia, it’s a pleasure,” she said, sitting down and passing her wine jug. Two more men stumbled into the tavern and waved their hellos to Maria and Lorenzo as they unwrapped cloths from around their faces.

“Does everyone here know each other?” asked Lucia.

“A bit. After a while, you remember the faces and, in truth, you’re the first new person I’ve seen come in here in some time,” said Maria.

“So...do you come here often?”

“Often enough. But we go from place to place, enjoying food and wine...little pleasures, wherever we can find them.” Lorenzo pinched Maria’s bottom at this and then looked away innocently. She gave him a playful whack on the head. Lucia noticed that Maria wore a girdle of silver over her rough linen dress, and that Lorenzo’s cap was of fine red wool...the expensive sort of textile her husband always complained about her buying. These were people Pampinea had described! People who stole from the homes of the dead. Just the sort to mingle with a relic thief. Lucia’s cheeks flushed with secret excitement at her discovery.