The Master of Verona

The first thing she saw was a fur. Lifting it out she saw it was not an expensive one, inexpertly cut from an animal who had seen some hard living. Beneath the fur lay two little sealed bundles of paper. One bore Pietro's seal, the other her father's. Which to read first? Her instinct was to savor her father's by reading it second. But by rights she should read his first, being the word of the paterfamilias. Such things mattered.

No, she decided.

It's Christmas. I will take both letters slowly.

She broke the seal and twine binding Pietro's letter and unfolded several pages. A long one! She often resented her brother's customary brevity. Pietro was often able to tell her facts about their travels that her father had left out, but without enough detail to satisfy her. After he had gone to join Dante in Paris, Antonia had been insanely jealous. Acutely aware of her own role in Dante's life, it never occurred to her that her brother might not recognize, or appreciate, his own.

Still, Pietro was a better correspondent than Jacopo, who had not written at all. She settled in to read:

9 December, 1314 Anno Domini

Mia Sorellina,

Greetings from Lucca, on the eve of our departure. We're packing our rooms here. Why, you ask? Well, remember when I wrote in October (or didn't you get that letter?) that the lord of Verona had asked to become Father's new patron? It's a handsome offer — housing, a hefty income, and the promise of readings and publications, all in return for Father's visible presence at court.

As you might imagine, it was the 'visible presence' that tripped up Father. He's not one for public displays, he tends to get moody and let his tongue run away with him. While at the same time he loves being the center of attention, which means he can't just sit in a corner and laugh with the rest of us.

But after weighing the choices, Father made the decision at last and we're leaving soon for the Scaliger's court. Father claims he's doing it so Cangrande will make me a knight, but I think it's because he admires Cangrande as much as I do. Martial yet cultured, witty and decisive. I know all good Florentines revile him, but really he's quite amazing. He certainly took time to be kind to me, he and his sister both.

Anyway, we're leaving Lucca none too soon. The natives are grumbling. I think they've finally interpreted Father's lines about Pisa — though I honestly don't know how they could have missed them! I keep expecting to wake up in the middle of the night and find our rooms on fire. All in all, it's a good thing to be leaving.