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’ Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit. His new wife’s face was sweet and angelic with hair the color of flax, her belly already visibly large beneath a roe skin pelt. . . I can’t afford to get behind. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. Nothing else was put in their place, and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his mind. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man.

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