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believe as soon as Terza clears our dishes away it will be time for prayers, and then you must seek your beds, my daughters,” Father Silvio said.
    When all had been accomplished and before she prepared herself for bed Francesca called for Terza, and together the two sought out the captain of the men-at-arms. “Send scouts ahead in the morning as soon as it is light enough to see,” she told him. “I want to know exactly how many hours it will take to reach the duke’s
castello
.
    “When we are an hour away I would stop, bathe, and don fresh garments. I will not meet this duke or his son smelling of horse and the road. You need not raise my pavilion. The priest’s small tent will do and give me the shelter I need. I will change horses when we again proceed. I want the bay for my entrance into the
castello
.”
    “I’ll see the priest’s small tent is carried by our men-at-arms on the morrow. Your tub, however, is another matter. We will have to put it on wheels and drag it behind us.”
    “You will know best,” Francesca said. Then she and Terza left the captain to return to the pavilion and settle themselves for the night. She slept surprisingly well, but was immediately awake when Terza touched her shoulder even before the dawn. Outside Francesca could hear the birds already stirring, their cheerful chirps quite audible through the walls of the silk tent. She joined the two nuns and the priest for their early-morning devotionals and breakfast, even as the pavilion was being torn down around them.
    They were on the forest road again as the sunrise began to creep over the unseen horizon, sending bright golden rays through the tall trees. Finally when the sun had reached its midday position they stopped where the forest opened out into a large meadow. As the priest’s small undistinguished tent was being raised to shield her from prying eyes, she bathed, and Francesca was pleased to see a fire had been started and two kettles of water were being heated. It occurred to her that she had not considered water when she was so busy giving instructions the previous evening.
    “Where do you think they got the water?” she said to Terza.
    “There’s a nice big brook on the edge of this meadow,” Terza replied. “I heard the captain this morning instructing his scouts to be certain to find a halt where water could easily be obtained.”
    “He’s clever,” Francesca remarked. “I must tell my father of his resourcefulness when we return to Florence in a few months’ time.”
    When the tub was full Francesca and Terza entered the tent, where the serving woman stripped the clothing from her mistress, pinned up her single thick plait, and helped her into the tub. The girl sank down into the water with a sigh of delight.
    “I’ll repack these smelly things and fetch what you are to wear,” Terza said. “Enjoy your bath, and I’ll be back to scrub you down properly.” Then she exited the tent quickly.
    Francesca closed her eyes. In a few hours this day would be concluded. She would sleep in a comfortable bed and enjoy herself for the next few weeks until she could properly satisfy the duke that she was not a good choice to be his son’s wife. Then they would return to Florence. She felt a tiny modicum of guilt knowing that both her family and the di Medicis hoped for a match between her and Terreno Boscoso. Each had other motives than her happiness. She could only marry a man she loved beyond all reason. She had realized months ago that her fascination with Enzo Ziani’s charms was childish.
    Her grandfather, her parents, the priests, had all been correct. At thirteen she had been too immature to wed. Many girls, however, were not, but she certainly was, as her reckless behavior in taking her sister’s place on the wedding gondola had proven. And then she had caused further scandal by refusing to accept Enzo’s decision to marry an older girl of sixteen who came from a large family of sons. She made a