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and your husband-to-be would be most displeased if they learned of this public display. Now come and have your meal quietly and begin acting like the gentlewomen you are.”
    “Yes, signora,” Lucrezia said.
    “My humble apologies,” I added, and we followed her back to the blanket.
    In the end, I realized, I had promised Lucrezia nothing.

Chapter Six
    H ere I lie in the arms of Love red robe trailing down O sweet God of Love lift me high let me fall let me drown in your sea in your sighs whispered now whispered soft as I die . . . I awoke from the rushing river of verse to the sound of muted thumping. I opened my eyes but saw nothing save moonlight streaming in through my balcony window. Another thump . . . on that door.
    I rose, pulling a light robe over my shift, and padded across the cool stone. The screech of the handle and hinge was loud in the silent night. The air that struck my face and breast was very soft, very mild.
    With my first footfall outside I stepped on a fig. Saw half a dozen at the base of the door, fallen from an ancient tree whose several muscular limbs hung languorously over my loggia. The thumps had been figs falling on the door. The thought of that fruit made me crave one. A nearby branch was groaning with it, and I reached out.
    A sudden darting hand snatched my wrist and held it tight.
    I shrieked in fright.
    “Juliet! Do not fear.”
    I knew the voice at once. I looked into the shadow of the leafy limb and there lay Romeo, all spread along the length of it. He released his grip. I stepped back.
    “You’ve been lying in wait,” I accused, regaining my composure. “Throwing figs at my door.”
    “Guilty.”
    I was lost for words, an unusual state of affairs.
    “Are you angry?” he said.
    “No . . . perhaps worried you are deranged.”
    He laughed at that.
    “Keep your voice down.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Should I ask why you’re here?”
    “Do you need to ask?”
    I nodded.
    “I find it useless trying to sleep,” he answered. “I’m kept awake by thoughts of you.”
    I suddenly felt myself naked and pulled the robe around my thin shift. His eyes were on me, unrelenting.
    “You look like a wood nymph,” I said. “Come down from there.” I backed away and let him jump to the balcony. He was graceful as a cat. Now we were face-to-face. But there was no Medici ball up a flight of stairs here, nor a church full of Florentines surrounding us. We were alone.
    “So my missiles woke you?”
    I was unsure how to act. I felt I should be indignant at his overbold visit, embarrassed at my state of undress.
    Alarmingly, I was neither.
    “I was dreaming a love poem when you woke me,” I admitted.
    “ Dreaming a poem?”
    “Have you never done that?”
    “No. Verse comes hard to my mind.” The moonlight was cool, but his gaze was searing. “Tell me your poem.”
    “I cannot. It was an endless stream of words.” Then I remembered. “But the God of Love was holding me in his arms. I wore a trailing red gown.”
    “Like the sketch—chapter three!” he cried, then recited, “ ‘In his arms there lay a figure asleep and naked except for a crimson cloth loosely wrapping it.’ ”
    “Oh dear, I seem to plagiarize, even in my sleep.”
    But Romeo did not smile. “Did the God of Love also bid you eat my burning heart?”
    My breath erupted in a sharp gasp. “You leap very handily from Dante and his beloved to you and me,” I said.
    “Should I not?”
    “You should slow down.”
    He looked chastised and backed away. Sat on the balcony wall. “What should I say, my lady?” he asked with courtesy.
    “Tell me what Don Cosimo said when you talked to him about peace.”
    “He spoke of history,” Romeo said, remembering. “Bad blood between the Guelf and Ghibelline factions all those years ago. What a senseless conflict that was—country folk who followed the emperor, city folk who gave allegiance to the pope. Meaningless hatred. Centuries of feuding.”
    I nodded for Romeo to go