The Road to Damietta Read Online Free PDF

lengths of his best brocade and two handfuls of money, if I hadn't decided that this would be a sin. Here I was stealing from my father because he was greedy, and here I was, being greedy myself. But you haven't mentioned the horse. I stole a horse, too, a fine Arabian."
    "You're making this up," I said, but as the words left my lips I realized that it made no difference to me whether he was a thief or not, whether he had stolen every bolt of cloth, every
soldo,
and every horse his father owned.
    He began to pet Simonetta, running a hand over her shining feathers, not listening to me at all.
    "When she is trained and can fend for herself," I said, "I'll think about setting her free."
    Now he was talking to Simonetta, at least making sounds that caused the hawk to turn her head one way and the other.
    "If you take off the hood then I can talk to her better," he said. "It is with the eyes that we talk to each other."
    With misgivings, I placed Simonetta on his arm and removed the golden hood, but kept a firm grip on the chain that held her.
    "She has the eyes of an odalisque," I said, to appear well read and scholarly.
    He didn't know the word. "Odalisque?" he said, shaking his head.
    "I mean that her eyes remind me of the melting eyes of a slave girl in a sultan's harem."
    "You're familiar with harems?"
    "Only through my reading," I said, embarrassed.
    He held the bird at arm's length and the two gazed at each other.
    "Her eyes don't melt," he said. "I am climbing a mountain in a winter storm. It is dusk as I near the top. Before me stands an icy cliff. In the face of the cliff is a small crevice and deep inside the crevice I see a fire. Her eyes are like that—fire and burning ice."
    He began to talk to Simonetta, strange sounds unlike any that I had ever heard before. Then he broke off the talk and said to me, "You must have many of these pretty birds, ones to match the colors of your cloaks and gowns," he said. "You'll never miss Simonetta."
    Deep within his own eyes I saw the fire and burning ice. Silently, holding my breath, I watched him unloose the chain from the falcon's leg. I watched her while she fluttered awkwardly away from us, then, gathering herself, disappeared in the stormy sky.
    "She's gone," I cried.
    "No longer an ornament on your wrist, but not gone," he said, pausing to gather his cloak about him. "She's in God's care. Now that you know this, you will free the others in your falconry."
    Through falling snow, I saw Raul beckoning to me. My senses returned. Without a word I spurred my horse and crossed the square.
    "I see that you didn't fare too badly with Bernardone," Raul said. "You only lost your favorite hawk. You're fortunate; you might have lost your purse as well as your horse and your nice silk surcoat. You might be walking homeward in your bare feet, freezing to death in your underclothes."
    I didn't answer him. My eyes were upon Francis Bernardone. He was still where I had left him. Now it was snowing big flakes and he was on his knees, his hands outstretched, catching them as they fell.
    The kneeling figure grew dim and disappeared in the driving snow. In all my life, I had never loved Francis Bernardone so much, so desperately.

5
    Snow hid the walls of San Rufino. As we came to the
Scifi palace, the watchman called out, inviting us to take shelter.
    The bells of Santa Maria Maggiore had rung. Within the hour, my father would be sitting down to dinner. I was not anxious to explain how I had lost Simonetta. Not that he would know about it so soon—days might pass before he heard. But as a dutiful daughter, trained in the importance of truth, if challenged I must confess to an act that he would deem much more than foolish.
    "It's warmer within than without," the watchman said, opening the gate. "This is an apt time to get frozen. Come, I pray you."
    I asked if Signorina Clare was about. Told that she was in bed, suffering a fever, I handed over my horse and Raul rode on with the servants.