“Let me go!” The boy kicked and spit and tried to wriggle away, but Rinalto anchored him with a firm grip.
“Give me what you took and I will.”
People began to stare.
“If you don’t,” he threatened, “there’s a priest over there I’m sure you’re dying to confess to.”
The boy stopped fighting. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace. As soon as Rinalto had it in hand, the boy stomped on his foot with such force that Rinalto let go of him. He disappeared within seconds. Rinalto limped back to the market with a rueful grin. At least he had the necklace. It looked expensive; he was glad he had made the effort.
When Rinalto reached the stall, Hayl saw what he had recovered. For a moment the old trader looked too stunned to speak. He turned to the shelf and realized the display that had held the necklace was empty.
“The boy had a good eye!” Hayl bellowed as he took the necklace back, but his laughter rang false. “Thank you, Rinalto. Thank you.” The old man slapped Rinalto on the back.
“It’s very beautiful.” Rinalto had never seen firestones like those before. The iridescent red looked like a field of poppies lit on fire.
“From Edessa,” Hayl said.
Rinalto watched the old man gently trace the stones with his fingers and Rinalto wondered at the sadness behind Hayl’s smile.
Perhaps the necklace had belonged to a woman he once knew. Rinalto and his family had bought goods from Hayl for years, but he was always alone, unlike the other traders who were often assisted by a wife or child.
Hayl was a Saracen who came from a village near the Caspian Sea. He loved to boast that he’d traveled most of the world, as far north as Kvenland and as far south as Syene—even down the Nile River in Egypt. The trader enjoyed telling tales, and every item he sold came with a story.
“What are you looking for today?” Hayl asked, still holding the necklace.
“The Book of Optics.”Rinalto’s eyes scanned the shelves.
“Ah, a popular one.” Hayl surveyed his stock. He had already sold several copies on this trip.
Every artist in Italy was buying the book to understand dimensional mastery, “the Del Aspect” as they called it.The Book of Opticsdemonstrated how to create two-dimensional pictorial representations of three-dimensional space.
“Written by Alhazen, an Arab physicist and mathematician,” Hayl said as he searched his books, “born in Basra, educated in Baghdad, and lived most of his life in Cairo, four hundred years ago!” he bellowed again in his jovial way. “I’m sure I have one left.”
Rinalto smiled, grateful. “I haven’t had a commission in months. I was hoping reading it might help.…” He trailed off, distracted by a young woman on the other side of the aisle. Every young man in the market seemed to be watching her. She was browsing the stalls and holding a petite white-haired dog in her arms.
Rinalto took off his cap.
Hayl looked over at the girl and smiled. “A rose in perfect blossom. Why don’t you go gardening, Rinalto?” He winked.
“Viviana Orsini will never notice me.”
“Bah!” Hayl wrapped up the book. “You’re young with a heart waiting to be broken.”
“She’s from a noble family. And I…” Rinalto motioned to his clothes, which bore stains from paint. He watched Viviana move farther down the aisle. “If I had my own studio, she might. If I had commissions like Ghiberti, her family might consider me a suitor.”
Hayl understood the poor boy’s predicament. “Unrequited love is one of life’s worst afflictions. Trust me, I know.” He picked up the firestone necklace. “I tried to give this necklace to a girl once. She did not accept.”
Rinalto looked over at Hayl, hoping the trader would say more. He sensed there was a story behind the necklace.
Hayl held up the firestones and watched them catch the sunlight. He had not thought of Kalinka in years. Only the necklace knew their history, a story he would never tell.
He placed the jewels high on a shelf where no hand could reach them. Then turned his attention back to Rinalto. “So. How does one get showered with commissions?”
“One piece of art for the right patron.” Rinalto continued to watch Viviana. She was an angelic vision with pouted lips and hair that shone like pale amber.
“One of your miniatures?” Hayl asked.
Despondent, Rinalto shook his head. “Something grander. Like a deck of cards.”
