That Day, On That Hill...

That day, on that hill, by that bay, a lot of things went wrong.

Filippo overslept, for starters. Normally, the monks chanting matins woke him well before dawn. Plenty of time to prepare the acrid black brew Don Giuseppe favored, and attend to the old man’s morning toilet.

But last night he drank wine with Lucia, and did not stir this morning until the sun’s rays slanted under his door.

Don Giuseppe was furious, of course, shoving Filippo aside with one arm and raising his spyglass to the west with the other.

“Damn your slothfulness,” he growled. “The Eastern Blade is ten minutes from harbor. In fifteen minutes the price of ginger root will drop at least ten percent. You’ll get my sell orders executed before then or you’ll be sleeping on the docks tonight.”

Filippo dashed back to his room to wake Lucia, but she was gone. And so was all the money in his purse.

“Gaaah!” He pulled his hand down the length of his face. Without coin to tip the clerks, how could he get the orders entered?

But no time to worry about that now. He sprinted into the street—where a cart had broken down, spilling great casks of olive oil halfway down the hill. Before he could stop, he found himself sloshing face-first along the oil-slicked gutter, pushing a small wave of horse and human waste before him. By the time he staggered to his feet, soaked and reeking, he was still nearly a mile from the market.

And there was Bruno, in the doorway of the bakery. Lucia’s husband.

“Worm!” he shouted. “Where is she?”

“Damned if I know,” said Filippo. Bruno charged at him, swinging a long loaf like a sword. Filippo ran for the harbor.

The great thing about being chased by a large, roaring cuckold, he realized, was that people got out of the way. Soon the harbor was in sight. He cut across the palazzo toward the trading stalls and spotted Roberto straight away.

“Good morning my friend,” he gasped, hands on his knees. The cries of traders filled his ears.

“Please, I have sell orders from Don Giuseppe.”

“For ginger root? Join the crowd.” Roberto pointed toward the harbor mouth, where the Eastern Blade was now visible to anyone with eyes.

Then two things happened at once. First, Bruno barreled into him and Roberto with a grunt, and the three crashed together into the canvas of the nearest stall.

Then, a mighty hush fell over the crowd, followed by a roar three times the magnitude of earlier.

A boy squirted out of a nearby stall, and Roberto hailed him for the news.

“Ginger spoiled in the hold,” the boy exclaimed. “Whole lot’s worthless!”

Filippo rolled on his back and looked at the sky just as it started to rain. Everything went wrong this morning, but it worked out perfectly for him. He grinned.

Then Bruno stood and kicked him in the ribs.