The Shepherdess of Siena: A Novel of Renaissance Tuscany Read Online Free PDF Page A

the walls in your contrada?”
    “No, no. She is pastured just above, in the hills beyond your village of Vignano—in the shadow of Castello di Quattro Torra. There are some wooden lambing sheds close by. If we could get her to move, she could rest there for the night in shelter. You could tend to her—”
    “Zio Giovanni!” I whispered. “Those are our sheds!”
    Brunelli shot a glance at me. He considered.
    “And what will the Duchessa d’Elci give me if I can save her mare?”
    “She will reward you commensurate with your skill, I assure you. You can name your price.”
    Brunelli snapped his finger against his stout thumb.
    “Giorgio!” he called.
    A red-haired boy appeared: one of his sons—the one Brunelli had sent away to Florence for years, who was said to have talent for painting pictures.
    He was about nineteen, almost a man, with big hands and long fingers stained brilliant blue and crimson. What had stained his skin, I wondered. Scarlet St. John’s oil, tincture of violet? So many horse potions I had seen in the illustrations painted in Brunelli’s book of horse remedies.
    “Fetch me my gray gelding,” Brunelli said to his son, “and my doctoring kit.”
    “Sì, Babbo,” said the boy, bobbing his head. His red curls brushed his freckled neck.
    I squinted at him, my fingers crossed to protect me from the hex of his flame-colored hair. Aunt Claudia had warned me about those witches’ locks. Licked by Satan with his fiery tongue, she said.
    A loud whinny erupted. The horses tied to a rope highline down the stable nickered and fidgeted as Giorgio hurried away.
    Brunelli looked out the open door, past the rider. The cold gust made me shiver.
    A black carriage with a crowned, double-headed eagle insignia stood waiting. An elderly woman pulled the velvet curtains apart, exposing her face to the rain. I watched her silver hair slowly mat against the pink crown of her head.
    “That is the duchessa?” asked Brunelli.
    “Yes,” said the rider. “She is distraught. She begged to accompany us.” He tilted his chin up and sniffed. “Though I assured her this stable is no place for a duchessa.”
    “She is a true horsewoman,” said Brunelli. “One of the few noblewomen who still is. Of course she belongs here, though I am not sure you do.”
    The gamblers chuckled, watching the servant flinch.
    “Tell her I will attend the mare,” said Brunelli. “But on one condition. You must give the owner of the lambing shed and his niece a ride to their home in the carriage. Those sheds are their own.”
    Zio Giovanni stood up in amazement. I stuck my fingers in my mouth.
    “But—” protested the servant, taking a look at him and then at me, wild-eyed with excitement. “She is the Duchessa d’Elci!”
    “You told me that. You also told me she was desperate to save her mare,” said Brunelli.
    The servant swallowed hard.
    “These are your terms?”
    “Absolutely. Ah, no. One more thing. I will ask for some paints for my son. He fancies himself another Michelangelo.”
    Laughter erupted again from the gambling circle.
    “Lapis blue is what he craves now,” said Padrino Brunelli. “I trust you can procure it in the markets of Siena?”
    “ Oltremarino , Babbo!” Giorgio called from the recesses of the stable. “But I must pick the stones to crush myself for quality. The vendors will cheat us if I do not choose them myself.
    “And some madder lake!” he called out. “From the cloth dyers by the Arno in Florence. They hoard the best from the Silk Road.”
    “You heard him,” said my padrino. “That will be my payment. Paints and transportation.”
    The servant gave a curt nod and ducked back into the rain. I scrambled to the stable door to watch him. I saw the old duchessa’s swollen eyes, the flash of a white linen handkerchief.
    As the servant spoke, a look of amazement mixed with annoyance crossed her face. She looked up and saw me staring at her from the stable door.
    She dipped her chin