So there I was, riding steadily by mid-afternoon, trying to keep to the valley roads as 
I lost sight of our towers, trying not to cry anymore like a child, but being drawn off 
into the mountainous land over and over again.
  My head was swimming. And the landscape gave me little time to think. Nothing could 
have been more forlorn.
  I came within sight of two huge ruined castles very soon after my departure, copings 
and ramparts lost in the greedy forest, which made me mindful that these had been the 
holdings of old Lords who had been fool enough to resist the power of Milan or Florence. 
It was enough to make me doubt my sanity, enough to make me think that we had not been 
annihilated by demons but that common enemies had made the assault.
  It was utterly grim to see their broken battlements looming against the otherwise 
cheerful and brilliant sky, and to come upon the overgrown fragments of villages with 
their tumbledown hovels and forgotten crossroads shrines in which stone Virgins or saints 
had sunk into spiderwebs and shadows.
  When I did spy a high distant well-fortified town, I knew well it was Milanese and had 
no intention of going up there. I was lost!
  As for the bandits, I only ran into one little ragged band, which I took on immediately 
with a deluge of chatter.
  If anything, the little pack of idiots gave me some distraction. My blood ran as fast 
as my tongue:
  "I'm riding in advance of a hundred men," I declared. "We search for a band of outlaws 
claiming to be fighting for Sforza when they're nothing but rapists and thieves; you seen 
any of them? I have a florin for each of you if you can tell me anything. We mean to cut 
them down on sight. I'm tired. I'm sick of this." I tossed them some coins. They were off 
immediately.
  But not before they let slip in talk of the country round that the nearest Florentine 
town was Santa Maddalana, which was two hours up ahead, and that it would close its gates 
at night, and nobody could talk his way into it.
  I pretended to know all about that and to be on the way to a famous monastery that I 
knew lay farther north, which I couldn't possibly have reached, and then threw more money 
over my shoulder as I raced off, hollering out that they ought to ride on to meet the 
band coming behind who would pay them for their service.
  I know they were debating all the time whether to kill me and take everything I had or 
not. It was a matter of stares and bluffs and fast talking and standing one's ground, and 
they were just utter ruffians, and somehow I got out of it.
  I rode off as quickly as I could, left the main road and cut towards the slopes from 
which I could see in the far distance the vague outline of Santa Maddalana. A big town. I 
could see four massive towers all gathered near the obvious front gates, and several 
distinct church steeples.
  I had hoped for something before this Santa Maddalana, something small, less fortified. 
But I couldn't remember names or was too lost now to go looking further.
  The afternoon sunshine was brilliant but now at a slant. I had to make for Santa 
Maddalana.
  When I reached the mountain proper on which this town was built, I went up sharply on 
the small paths used by the shepherds.
  The light was fading fast. The forest was too thick to be safe so near a walled town. I 
cursed them that they didn't keep the mountain cleared, but then I had the safety of 
cover.
  There were moments amid the deepening darkness when it seemed virtually impossible to 
reach the summit; the stars now lighted a glowing sapphirine sky, but that only made the 
venerable town in all its majesty seem ever more unattainable.
  Finally the heedless night did plunge down amongst the thick trunks of the trees, and I 
was picking my way, counting on the instincts of my horse more than my own failing 
vision. The pale half-moon seemed in love with the clouds. The sky itself was nothing but 
bits and pieces thanks to the canopy of foliage above me.
  I found myself praying to my father, as if he were safely with my guardian angels about 
me, and I think I believed in him and his presence more surely than I had ever believed 
in angels, saying, "Please, Father, help me get there. Help me get to safety, lest those 
demons render my vengeance impossible."
  I gripped my sword hard. I reminded myself of the daggers I wore in my boots, in my 
sleeve, in my jacket and in my belt. I strained to see by the light of the sky, and had 
to trust my horse to pick his way through the thick tree trunks.
  At moments I stopped very still. I heard no unusual sound. Who else would be fool 
enough to be out in the night of this forest? At some point very near the end of the 
journey, I found the main road, the forest thinned and then gave way to smooth fields and 
meadows, and I took the twists and turns at a gallop.
  At last the town rose right up in front of us, as it happens when you reach the gates 
by a final turn, you seem to have been thrown up on the ground at the foot of a magic 
fortress - and I took a deep breath of thanks, no matter that the giant gates were firmly 
shut as if a hostile army were camped beneath it. This had to be my haven.
  Of course the Watch, a sleepy soldier hollering down from above, wanted to know who I 
was.
  Once again the effort of making up something good distracted me from wayward, near 
uncontrollable, images of the fiend Ursula and her severed arm, and the decapitated 
bodies of my brother and sister fallen on the chapel floor in mid-gesture.
  I cried out, in a humble tone but with pretentious vocabulary, that I was a scholar in 
the employ of Cosimo de' Medici come on a search for books in Santa Maddalana, in 
particular old prayer books pertaining to the saints and appearances of the Blessed 
Virgin Mary in this district. What nonsense.
  I had come, I declared, to visit the churches and schools and whatever old teachers the 
town might shelter, and to take back what I could purchase with good gold Florentine coin 
to my master in Florence.
  "Yes, but your name, your name!" the soldier insisted as he opened the small lower gate 
only a crack, his lantern held high to inspect me. I knew I made a good picture on my 
horse.
  "De' Bardi," I declared. "Antonio De' Bardi, kinsman of Cosimo," I said with fierce 
nerve, naming the family of Cosimo's wife because it was the only name that came into my 
head. "Look, kindly man, take this payment for me, have a good supper with your wife as 
my guests, here, I know it's late, I'm so tired!"
  The gate was opened. I had to dismount to lead my horse with lowered head through it 
and into the echoing stone piazza right inside.
  "What in the name of God," asked the Watchman, "were you doing in these woods after 
dark alone? Do you know the dangers? And so young? What is the Bardi these days that they 
let their secretaries go riding all over unescorted?" He pocketed the money. "Look at 
you, a mere child! Somebody could murder you for your buttons. What's the matter with 
you?"
  This was an immense piazza, and I could see more than one street leading off. Good 
luck. But what if the demons were here too? I had no clue as to where such things might 
roost or hide! But I went on talking.
  "It's all my fault. I got lost. Tell on me and you'll get me in trouble," I said. "Show