The Master of Verona

Another said, "Oh yes, we really must have him recalled! It's a shame that such a genius isn't able to perform for us in person. He does performances, doesn't he?"

Feeling her face screwing up to make a tart reply, Antonia quickly turned away and ran straight into her uncle Forese, who was saying, "Yes, I've read it twice! Even memorized the good bits. Though I disagree with my namesake. I quite like the bosoms one sees in the city. On a soggy morning like this the women make sure to paint their nipples! Though I'm glad my niece is too young for such displays," he added, sending an inappropriate wink Antonia's way.

"Oh uncle," she said. "Watch out or I'll have my father putting words in your mouth."

"He's welcome to, sweetie, just as soon as I'm dead!" Laughing, Forese turned his back on her.

"I can't wait," muttered Antonia.

Her uncle continued to speak. "It's a shame her brother is fighting on the wrong side. Word is he fought bravely up in Vicenza. Got a wound, did my nephew, a good wound to show from it. I hear it's disfiguring, just horrible. I'm so proud. Would never have thought it of him."

Antonia wouldn't have thought it of Pietro either. She couldn't imagine her bookish brother even riding a horse, let alone wielding a sword. He'd written once since September, hardly mentioning the battle and completely omitting his own part in it. Maybe there was news of Pietro in the package at home…

She was drifting, her mother might notice. Turning back she found herself facing a portly man in his mid forties, not of her family. He was grinning down at her, and she couldn't help smiling back as she curtsied. "Good morning, Signore Villani. Are you returned? How does Christmas find you?"

Giovanni Villani bowed. "I am indeed returned from Flanders once more, the bearer of secrets of trade, innuendo political, and gossip grave. As for Christmas," with his back leg still bent he gave a furtive look to each side, "it finds me hiding from the Peruzzi, as usual. The youngest keeps hounding me to put money into some mad venture or other. This time it's an artist, I think. But how does Christmas find you, my formidable foe?"

Antonia looked slyly up at the portly dark fellow. "I don't know what you — "

"Oh, you know full well. The parchment, girl, the parchment! Here I am trying to write an account of the world without the parchment to write upon. You've bought it all up for your father's infamous Inferno! If you were older, or a man, or far less clever, I would set my hounds on you." He grinned.

Young Antonia was amused. She truly liked Signore Villani — a rare compliment. "I don't think your complaint is with me. You should talk to the Villoresi parfumerie."

"Fiends! Despoilers! If men took time to bathe they wouldn't need these fancy perfumes, and our poor parchment would be left alone." Perfume makers often burned parchment to create their pleasing aromas. "Damned biblioclasts! I tell you, there is nothing so vile as the destruction of a book."

"I quite agree."

"Then, please, stop destroying the book inside my head. I must have parchment! Oh, but I like writing on parchment. Each time you turn a page it rumbles like thunder. My words are so portentous — that's portentous, dear, not pretentious — it seems appropriate. Like Jove. Alas, without it I'm forced to use paper. Eeugh!" Villani shivered, throwing out his arms as if ridding himself of an insect. "Hemp. Boiled underwear. The pieces of animals even the Minoli won't eat. I swear, my fingers shrivel away at the merest touch. I'll catch a plague from paper, I'm sure of it."

"Nothing of the kind," said Gemma, descending upon her daughter. "My husband spent years composing on paper. Or in the leaner years in chalk upon the walls. There is nothing disreputable about paper, not in these enlightened times. Paper is the new standard. Antonia, don't you agree?"

Antonia didn't, but said she did. Villani looked scandalized. "But, madam, writing is a sacred act! Do we not call Christ, he who was born on this day, Logos? He is the word! Did not San Giovanni eat the book the angel gave him? Was it not sweet like honey in his mouth? Could such a book be written on paper

?"

Antonia couldn't help herself. "Signore Villani, you forget. When it reached his stomach it was bitter."

His eyes twinkled. "Did it transubstantiate, then? Parchment in the mouth, paper in the belly? I must ask the cardinal. But, ladies, are you alone this morning? May I see you home?"

Gemma declined the offer. "Gagliardo di Amerigo and his son have offered to accompany us, along with my cousin Cianfa. We have kept them waiting too long. Send my regards to your wife, Signore Villani!"

The portly fellow swept his hat off in a bow, then turned and let out a kind of yelp. "Ah, Peruzzi, my dear fellow, where have you been hiding?"