Da Vinci's Tiger (2015)
“SANCHA WHISPERED TO me as we began the walk home. She had refused to let me cross the city alone, tucking a kitchen knife in her belt to escort me—a comical precaution, but I had been in too much of a hurry to argue the point with her. Of course accompanying me also allowed her one of her favorite pastimes—watching people. Rather than entering Le Murate with me, she had waited outside on via Ghibellina, amusing herself by assessing visitors coming into the city’s northern gate, weary from cross...ing the Apennines on the road from Bologna.
Her curiosity now turned from that parade of strangers to the inner workings of Le Murate. “Is it all hair shirts and floggings? And spirits and goblins pursuing the nuns?”
“Goodness, no, Sancha. What makes you think such things?”
She shrugged. “I’ve heard of strange goings-on inside.” She yanked me away from stepping in ox dung. Florence’s backstreets were narrow and crowded. Men jostled one another, relieved themselves in corners, and argued loudly—even throwing punches—over neighborhood politics.MoreLess
Her curiosity now turned from that parade of strangers to the inner workings of Le Murate. “Is it all hair shirts and floggings? And spirits and goblins pursuing the nuns?”
“Goodness, no, Sancha. What makes you think such things?”
She shrugged. “I’ve heard of strange goings-on inside.” She yanked me away from stepping in ox dung. Florence’s backstreets were narrow and crowded. Men jostled one another, relieved themselves in corners, and argued loudly—even throwing punches—over neighborhood politics.MoreLess
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