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woman’s head. But what purpose had been served by butchering her like an ox at a Saturday market?
    This grim revelation led me to a more urgent question. “Why did His Holiness say nothing about the manner of her … perishing, when it seems to be common knowledge here? He did not say she had been dismembered. He merely told me she had been found in a field.” I peeked down into the courtyard. The Florentine had resumed his rounds. After a moment he glanced up, prompting me to step back. “ ‘The corners of the winds.’ Perhaps her murderers were boasting that they had scattered her to the winds. Just as they left Juan’s amulet in the same charm bag, to boast that they had also murdered him. But I cannot imagine why His Holiness did not remark on this connection.”
    “Madonna. Do you think His Holiness wanted to see if you already knew that connection?”
    I smiled, but only because Camilla was so clever. “Perhaps His Holiness believes these corners of the winds are the key to all of this, more so even than Juan’s amulet. And perhaps, as you say, he wondered if I already knew. Or does he believe I will discover their meaning for him? But unless the corners of the winds are in these rooms … What is His Holiness waiting on? For the condottieri and their armies to appear at the gates of Imola?”
    The Florentine’s young friend arrived, in the same fashion as the previous day. “You are most likely correct in assuming that your Messer Niccolò is not spying upon us, at least on the pope’s behalf,” I said, watching as the messenger received his stipend and exited. “Nonetheless, this boy is apprising him of something.”
    Camilla, who by earliest habit always looked for some way to be useful—an instinct without which she would not have survived her childhood—had begun to polish our little copper bathtub with a handful of sand from the courtyard. She did not look up as she asked, “Do you think they are watching for the condottieri ?”
    I did not think so. But I said nothing. Instead, from deep in my memory I heard my mother’s voice: Cercar Maria per Ravenna . A saying she had taught me when I was just a girl: To search for Maria in Ravenna. If you don’t know, it comes from a story about a man who journeys to Ravenna, frantically pursuing a mysterious woman named Maria, with whom he is desperately in love. This man finds the object of his quest, only to uncover a most unpleasant secret about her that proves to be the death of him. So the saying is a warning—be careful of the truth you seek.
    I watched Messer Niccolò lead his animal back into the stables. But far more clearly, I could still see the pope standing before me in the Hall of Saints, doubt twitching across his face. And now I saw a deeper fear.
    As Camilla scoured the copper, the wet sand screeched slightly. My whisper was so faint that she could not hear me. “That is what frightens you, isn’t it, Your Holiness? That we will arrive at these corners of the winds, only to find Maria in Ravenna.”

    On our fourth day in Imola, once again we observed Messer Niccolò’s ritual and the arrival of his informant. An hour after the latter departed, we had a knock on our door, the first of our entire stay in this city. I looked at Camilla and said with false cheer, “You see, His Holiness has not forgotten me.”
    Camilla had already gone to the door. “Shall I open up?”
    I nodded, my nerves raw.
    From our bedroom, I could see our caller on the threshold. This youth was nearly as smooth-faced and ruddy as the mule-keeper’s boy, but attired at considerably greater expense, in the vermilion and yellow hose and matching jacket of Duke Valentino’s household. At once he presented Camilla a little card, dipped gracefully to his knee, and left us.
    Camilla frowned as if the missive had been wrongly addressed. “Madonna, this is not from His Holiness. His Excellency Duke Valentino has summoned you to the Rocca this evening. To