He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. He did not think of her as a killer, he could barely conceive it. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. All her life Martha had been there. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. That will be a fine day—it will have to be, when first you set eyes on Italy.
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