Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [82]
“Yes, Holy Father,” Palombara said with an enthusiasm he could not conceal. “Yes, I will.”
• • •
On the last night before leaving Florence, Palombara dined with his old friend Alighiero de Belincione and Lapa, the woman he had lived with since the death of his wife. They had two small children, Francesco and Gaetana, and Alighiero’s son Dante, from his previous marriage.
As always, they made Palombara feel welcome, gave him excellent food, and afterward sat around the fire and brought him up-to-date on all the latest news and gossip.
They were fascinated by Palombara’s experiences in Constantinople. Lapa wished to hear all about the court of Michael, particularly the fashions and the food. Alighiero was more interested in the spices and silks in the market and the artifacts to be purchased from the fabled cities farther east along the old Silk Road.
They were discussing the life of those who traveled it when a boy came into the room, tentatively at first, knowing he was interrupting. He was about ten years old, slender, almost thin; the bones of his shoulders were visible even through his winter jerkin. But it was his face that held Palombara’s attention. He was pale and his features were already losing the softness of the child, and his eyes burned with a passion that seemed almost to consume him.
Lapa looked at him with anxiety. “Dante, you missed supper. Let me get you something now.” She half rose to her feet.
Alighiero put out his hand to restrain her. “He’ll eat when he’s hungry. Don’t worry so much.”
She brushed him away. “He needs to eat every day. Dante, let me present you to Bishop Palombara, from Rome, then I’ll make you something.”
Alighiero sat back again, probably in deference to Palombara, rather than have a disagreement in front of him, which would have been embarrassing.
“Welcome to Florence, Your Grace,” the boy said politely.
Palombara looked into his eyes and saw in them an emotion so powerful that it seemed to light him from within, and Palombara had a sudden conviction that he himself scarcely impinged upon the boy’s world. He wanted to make some mark on this extraordinary child.
“Thank you, Dante,” he replied. “I have already been given the hospitality of friends, and there is no greater gift of welcome than that.”
Now Dante looked at him, then he smiled. For an instant Palombara was real to him, it was there in his eyes.
“Come,” Lapa said, standing. “I will make you something to eat. I have a little of your favorite caramel.” She led the way out of the room, and with a brief glance at Palombara, the boy followed her obediently.
“I apologize for him,” Alighiero said with a smile to cover his embarrassment. “Ten years old and he believes he has seen heaven in a girl’s face. Portinari’s daughter, Bice, Beatrice. He barely saw her. It was last year, and he still can’t get over it.” His eyes were puzzled. “He lives in another world. I don’t know what to do with him.” He shrugged slightly. “I suppose it will pass. But at the moment poor Lapa’s worrying about him.” He picked up the jug of wine. “Have some more?”
Palombara accepted, and they spent the rest of the evening in agreeable conversation. For once, Palombara was able to indulge in friendship and forget about the moral ambiguities of the crusade.
When he left to ride to Arezzo the following morning, he could not rid his mind of the solemn, passionate face of the boy who was convinced he had seen the face of the girl he would love all his life. The fire had consumed the boy, had lit him from within. Ahead of him were both heaven and hell, but never the corrosion of doubt or the yawning wasteland of indifference. Yes, Palombara envied the boy, and whether he dared to grasp at it or not, he needed to know