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    ‘Sir, you are brave and have such valour
    and your words to me are filled with power
    they freed my heart from another’s hand;
    that heart I soon hope to see
    placed within your nobility,
    to rule there and do your will.
    What I most loved I now despise,
    and I can no longer value beauty without spirit
    so repent of ever having delighted in it.’
     
    Ludovico claps his hands, ‘Brava! Brava! You are a prodigy.’
    ‘You flatter me, sir. But I want to learn, to meet with fellow poets and improve.’ I catch my lower lip with my teeth. ‘Do you know any?’
    ‘Not me, I don’t mix in those circles. I know someone who does, though.’
    ‘Is he an arse-rider?’ I think about the men Ludovico was with at the festival.
    He chuckles. ‘Far from it. Count Andrew Tron. You’ve heard of him?’
    ‘Yes.’ From one of the ruling crow families, a naval commander. Now we’re talking. ‘When can I meet him?’
    Ludovico grins. ‘He’s away at sea at the moment, I think. As soon as he returns, I’ll introduce you. Don’t you go tying yourself down to one patron anymore, Veronica! You’re too delectable to hide yourself away.’
    ‘I won’t.’
    ‘Your mother told me about di Babolli. What will he say when he finds out you’ve been unfaithful?’
    ‘He treats me like another wife. I’m a courtesan. I should be out in the world. Otherwise I might as well have entered a convent.’ Ludovico laughs, slapping his thighs. ‘I can’t imagine you in a nunnery.’
    ‘Unless it’s like the one in Boccaccio’s Decameron.’ I giggle.
    ‘You’re a breath of fresh air, my sweet. Come, sit on my lap again. I need to feel your lovely arse against my prick.’
    And, surprisingly, so do I.
     

     
    Ludovico becomes a regular, and soon there are others knocking at my door for he’s spread the word. I take to wearing men’s attire when not entertaining; ’tis so much more comfortable than tight bodices that cut into my breasts.
    Dressed in the light hose, breeches and doublet made especially for me by my dressmaker, I sit at my desk, quill in hand, composing a verse.
     
    The cool roses, lilies, and violets
    were scalded by the breath of my burning sighs
    and I saw the sun blanche with pity
    when it viewed the distress in my eyes.
     
    Why am I writing of sadness? ’Tis because I’m cooped-up in this house. The only time I get out is on Sundays to go to church, or when Maurizio takes me for a ride in our gondola. If I walked the narrow streets of the city dressed as a boy, I’d be in danger of attracting just as much, if not more, attention than if I slipped my chains in one of my dresses. At least I enjoy intelligent conversation with Ludovico. He tells me not to be impatient, and that his friend Count Tron will soon be here.
    The door swings open and, startled, I leap to my feet. Maria santissima! Jacomo stands in front of me, his jaw hanging open. ‘What in God’s name are you wearing, Veronica?’
    I take his hand. ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were back? Is your wife recovered?’
    ‘She’s well again. I only just arrived and couldn’t wait to see you. Tell me! Why the boy’s attire?’
    ‘Don’t you like it?’
    ‘No. I prefer my women to look … womanly. What’s going on?’
    ‘Jacomo, I’ve made new conquests.’
    A frown creases his brow. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘You don’t have exclusivity anymore. What did you expect? You left me on my own for two months.’
    ‘Didn’t I leave you enough money?’
    ‘’Tis not that. I was lonely and bored.’
    His expression darkens. ‘I’m surprised at you, Veronica. I thought you loved me. I saved you from having to sell yourself to all and sundry, didn’t I?’
    ‘You kept me in a gilded cage. I’m not your possession even if you did pay for me. You can’t possess another human being. I have free will, don’t I?’
    ‘I can’t share you. ’Tis not in my nature. I’m a jealous man.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Not as sorry as