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    “Get rid of the lice,” Silvano said, disappearing down the foyer. “He’s meant for a fine class. And tend to his ear. Damaged goods fetch a lower price.”
    Neither woman spoke as they led me through the palazzo. It seemed shrouded in shadows, with windows swathed in heavy fabrics and tall candles flickering, but even in the dark I could see that it was sumptuously furnished. Ornate tapestries decorated the walls and gorgeous carved furniture and painted chests adorned the corners. Despite my dread, I couldn’t help but ogle. I had often peeked in windows to sate my curiosity about the way other people, real people, lived, but I’d never actually been inside a palazzo. I gaped at the heavy candelabra and plush carpets, and once I caught a glimpse of someone small slipping behind a door. The women gave me no opportunity to dawdle, but took me straight to an atrium lit brightly with torches and lanterns. A large tub filled with steaming water awaited us. The moonfaced woman untied the sash around my shirt. I wasn’t used to such intimacies and I jerked back. Blank-faced and mute, she persisted, and the sash and shirt came off, followed by my breeches. Everything I owned in the world was, after all, a small, filthy pile of rags; even I could see it moving with insects. Shamed, I covered myself with my hands. The paler woman disappeared and returned with a small bottle and some cloth. I grabbed the bottle and took a deep swig of the green olive oil. It was thick and almost sweet on my palate, and I grunted.
    “No, not yet,” she whispered, taking the bottle back gently but firmly. She motioned to the other woman, who grasped my head and tilted it. Then the paler woman poured a few drops into my injured ear. The oil slid slowly through the canal, and the burning inside my head eased. She tore off a small piece of the cloth, wadded it, and plugged my ear. Then she gestured for me to get into the tub.
    “What is this?” I asked, touching the mark on her cheek. A few curls from her blond braid wisped against my fingers.
    “A birthmark. Don’t worry, it’s not one of those that are the devil’s kiss,” she said.
    “I don’t believe in the devil,” I confided. “A man once told me that God laughs, and I think God’s laughter is so cruel that there doesn’t need to be a devil.”
    “Hush, now, boy, don’t speak such things, even in this place.” She pointed at the tub.
    “What’s your name?” I asked as I climbed in. I sat and warm water lapped out around me in rings. It was my first bath. On summer days I had swum in the Arno, but that was about relief from the scalding heat. Cleanliness wasn’t the goal when I was dodging offal and excrement.
    “I’m Simonetta, she’s Maria.” She smiled a little as she took up a boar-bristle brush from a tray beside the tub, as did the moonfaced Maria. Each also took up cakes of lye soap and set to work lathering me and scrubbing me with the brushes. I yelped and swatted the soap away, because it stung the rashes on my skin and the abrasions on my wrists. Maria rapped my knuckles with the back of the brush and I stopped resisting. The water turned muddy and cool. They soaped up my head, taking care to keep my damaged ear dry. Finally they pulled me out of the tub, still covered in soap, and used pails of water to rinse me. Something made the hair frizzle on the back of my neck. Someone was watching me. I peered into the shadowed corners of the atrium until I saw a young man under a trellis covered with grapevines.
    “Hey!” I exclaimed, covering myself with my hands.
    “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m Marco. I always welcome the new children.” The women glanced around nervously but then went back to work on me, brushing and rinsing. Marco stepped out of the shadows. He was several years older than me, tall and slim-hipped, with an elegant gait and black hair and black eyes framed by absurdly long lashes. He was quite beautiful, with a face like