What Remains of the Fair Simonetta by Laura T. Emery Read Free Book Online

Mariano.
    I stole quickly around the two corners and down the street to Mariano’s house. I noticed a cart stacked with hides stationed just outside the door as I knocked, hopeful that Sandro was still in his studiolo , madly finishing his sketch. After a few moments, Mariano answered the door with pieces of cured cow hide draped over his left shoulder, which he promptly set on top of the stack.
    “ Buongiorno, Signor Filipepi,” I enthused, enthusiastically, but received no verbal or even gestural response. He merely stood there, poker faced. “You’re a tanner, I see.”
    As if I didn’t know .
    “Yes. And you are Simonetta Vespucci,” he replied with a curious look, and not the indignation I’d expected, as he continued past me out the door, and pushed the cart down the Via della Vigna Nuova.
    “I’m sorry,” I confessed, running to catch up with him, “That I tried to deceive you earlier.”
    “It is forgiven. I am quite aware that Sandro put you up to it. Everything is in jest to him,” Mariano scoffed. “Did you know he accused his own friend of blasphemy to the vicar—as a joke? He told the vicar that the man held the opinion of the Epicureans—that the soul dies with the body.”
    “What happened to the man?” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the audacity or fear for his friend.
    “ Not a thing. The joke was turned on Sandro. The man demanded to see his accuser. And when Sandro appeared, snickering, his friend stated to the vicar that Sandro was a brute and a blockhead, and that he was the heretic, for although Sandro has barely a grain of learning, he claims to compose a commentary on Dante.”
    “Oh, I see,” I said, chuckling on the inside.
    Sandro Botticelli was a prankster. How could I not have known?
    It became obvious to me that Sandro must have been sure nothing of consequence would happen to his friend.
    “But at last, you will have to excuse me. I must go to the river,” Mariano continued. “I am afraid the odor of my hides offends my wife.”
    Smeralda.
    Mariano had spoken so lovingly of her over the years. He adored her sweet smell, her silky black hair, and her nurturing attention to all around her.
    “I’ll go with you.” I insisted, having no idea what I was going to accomplish.
    “To the river? Have you not come for Sandro?”
    “No. I want to speak with you.”
    “Surely you jest. You cannot go to the waterfront in that dress. You will stand out like a whore in church.”
    “Oh. Well, that won’t do,” I replied, trying not to react to the bold nature of his statement.
    That was not the mouth of the Mariano I knew.
    I was also certain it was an extremely uncool way to address a lady. But I decided to ignore the statement. “Could you wait just a minute, Signor Filipepi? I’ll be right back.”
    Before he could reply, I dashed back to my palazzo . “Antonella!” I cried, as I raced up the stairs.
    “What is it?” Antonella snapped, as she met me at the top of the flight.
    “I know you already dressed me, and undressed me, and dressed me again, but I have to go to the waterfront with Mariano. Will you trade gowns with me?” I cried, breathlessly.
    “First you ignore me and go out unattended. And now you would like Luciana to catch me in your dress, so she can report me to Marco?”
    “Oh no, I suppose that wouldn’t be good.”
    “Why do you not wear your own servant’s dress?”
    I have a servant’s dress?
    “Of course. Whatever was I thinking?”
    Fearing that Mariano would leave without me, I decided not to ask more questions, and instead ran for the wardrobe, rifling once again through its contents. There was no brown and white frock to be found.
    Antonella looked at me sideways, then forced me out of her way, as she felt around the bottom of the wardrobe and soon lifted a board, revealing a hidden compartment. She stepped back so I could help myself.
    From my vantage point, I couldn’t see a brown and white servant’s dress, but instead a gray