The Road to Damietta Read Free

maunderings."
    The two men had exchanged letters for a long time, mostly about the shape of the earth. Marsilio, who lived in Perugia where they believed many strange things, thought that it was shaped like a pear, and Raul thought that it was more like a wheel, the various countries, islands, and oceans being the spokes in the wheel. Everyone knew the earth never moved, but both men were wrong about its shape. It was the heart of the universe, and everything else—the sun and moon and stars—moved around it in an obedient procession, like slaves. Besides, the earth was most certainly flat and hung suspended from a golden cord, like a feast-day platter, only larger.
    We stood on the balcony with the map spread before us, and the serpent came soon after vespers. But somehow it lacked the tail the seer had described. In truth, it wasn't much of a serpent.
    "It looks like somebody's footprint," I said.
    "The street lanterns and the bonfire burning there below us hinder our view," Raul said. "On a better night, it would look much different."
    "Like two footprints."
    "Remember, that seer Yakub made his prediction more than a hundred years ago."
    "Perhaps the serpent is worn down from all its travels. But Yakub says here in his notes that it is a good omen to wish upon."
    "A voice," Raul said, "whispered to me just now, saying, 'There is no such thing as an omen for lovers to be found in the sky. Nor a voice whispering in the night.'"
    From below us in San Rufino Square came a clash of cymbals and the braying of horns. A band of musicians surrounded by a motley crowd had gathered at a bonfire. One of the musicians, a youth dressed in an embroidered tunic, wearing a velvet cap with a cock's feather and a broad belt set with shimmering studs and clasps, I recognized at once.
    It was impossible to hear me above the clamor, but I took a long breath and shouted down to him, inviting him to watch the fiery serpent.
    "Who is it you shout at?" Raul asked.
    "The one in the velvet cap and the cock's feather—Francis Bernardone."
    Raul said nothing, groaning instead.
    The sound of lutes and violins drifted up on the windless air. A hush fell upon the crowd. Then Francis Bernardone was singing, softly and clearly:
"
Put out my searching eyes!

Blind me!

Let me never again see thy beauty,

For my heart it crucifies.
"
    The fire shone on his upturned face. I wondered if he saw me in my white gown with the ribbons and rosebuds, leaning above him on the balcony.
    A sigh must have escaped my lips, for Raul said: "You are very prideful. He's not singing to you. Other girls also inhabit Piazza San Rufino. There's the pretty Fabrissa Filippi directly across the square. Next to her are the Barbarossas, Beatrice and Aspasia, equally favored. And let's not forget Clare di Scifi, of the noblest of all Assisi families, a girl famed for her beauty and winning disposition. If you believe that Francis Bernardone sings only to you, then, my dear, you are the possessor of an immense conceit."
    Francis was singing another ballad; his words drifted up, soft as rose petals:
"
You are mine.

I am thine.

In my heart

You are locked forever

And the golden key is lost.
"
    The song faded away. Silent and breathless, I leaned over the balcony.
    Raul said, "You may be surprised by the question and you may not wish to answer. But if you do, answer me with the truth."
    I knew the question before he had a chance to ask it. Calmly I said, as though I had said it many times before, "Francis Bernardone is my dearest love."
    Raul's face was hidden, but silence betrayed his concern.
    "I've loved him always," I said. "And I love him now and will forever."
    "I understand, oh, how I understand," he said. "Bernardone is a charming minstrel, a singer of tender songs, a teller of fantastic tales, an acrobat whose feet never touch the ground, with whom every girl in Assisi thinks she's in love. And now it's you that joins the many. You've never met Bernardone. Never so