Niccolò and Giancarlo walked through the many narrow alleyways to the bottega in pure ecstasy. They were so enamored by their conversation with Francesca and Maria that not even the desperate cries of the beggars, begging them for just a single lira to feed their starving children, could dampen their moods.
“I must say, I am very excited,” Niccolò said. The dried leaf crumpled and let out a satisfying crunch under his boot. “To be honest, it has been a while since I have enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman.”
“And here I am thinking that you were all talk,” Giancarlo jabbed.
Niccolò paused and placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “You dishonor me, my friend. I am Niccolò DiPietro, conqueror of the maidens!”
“Oh, you must be the next Alexander then!” Giancarlo said sarcastically. “I have never once heard of any of your exploits.”
“Contrary to what you might believe, I do not feel the need to relay my exploits to the world; it would only end up getting me killed.”
“Tell me then, what was your last exploit.”
“It was a month ago,” Niccolò said fondly, “Bernadetta Grassina, daughter of an olive oil merchant. We were both at the Speckled Lily and we were both very drunk. We ended up in a stable, on a bed of hay. You can use your imagination for the rest.”
“A very modest story, I’m surprised by you.”
“Oh what, you have a more impressive story?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Oh, do tell then.”
“It was on Christmas, during evening mass. I spotted this girl a few pews ahead of me. She was gorgeous, in a carnal way. Well, she saw me too and was immediately enamored. Once mass ended, she found me and took me by the hand into the sacristy which was miraculously empty. We consummated our carnal desire in front of the Virgin Mary herself.”
“Bugiardo!” Niccolò shouted.
“I am not!” Giancarlo reputed.
“Alright then, what’s her name?”
Giancarlo waved him off. “You wouldn’t know her; she prays at a different church.”
“You are full of it; I do not believe you for a second.”
“Alright fine,” Giancarlo said, conceding defeat. He stopped walking. “If you must know, I’m- I’m a virgin.”
Niccolò gave a look of astonishment.
“No,” he said in disbelief. “You are joking.”
“It’s true,” Giancarlo admitted. He kept his eyes fixed to the ground. “I’ve come close before, but the girl I was with, she had passed out before we did anything serious. It didn’t feel right to keep going.”
“You are telling me you haven’t shared a night with anybody? Not even Antonio?”
The mention of Antonio caused Giancarlo to look up in bewilderment. “Antonio? Of course not! What would make you say that?”
Niccolò waved his hand, “Come on. Anyone with eyes can see what’s goes on between the two of you.”
“If that is the case, then I am blinder than every husband in the Decameron. Antonio and I are good friends, nothing more.”
“So not once have you two had a moment?”
“A moment?” Giancarlo had paused, had they ever had a moment where he thought of Antonio as someone other than a friend? “No,” he said with a lack of confidence. “We are only friends.”
Much to Giancarlo’s relief, they had arrived at Messer Lucardi’s bottega and Niccolò could no longer push the subject. As they opened the door and entered the workshop, the atmosphere was tense. Reggiano and Petruccio were already hard at work and failed to even acknowledge the two.
“Buongiorno ragazzi,” Messer Lucardi said from behind his sculpture. “I have received word from Messer Pitti, and he is not pleased with the progress made on his commission. He informed me yesterday that he will be coming in three days time to review the status of his commission and the terms of his contract. You have come to work, and so you will work. For the next three days, if I hear any discussions about anything that is not your work, then you will leave my bottega and never come back. Capite?”
“Si Messer,” Giancarlo said. The two quietly shut the door and went straight to their stations, ready for a full day of work.
Header Image: The Wedding at Cana, Paolo Veronese. 1563.