“War is a good business,” he adds, smiling. “And there is art in what we do. Consider a gauntlet, which, when made by artisans less skilled, simply takes on the form of a knight’s fist. But a master will make you think the fist is already inside, snug and ready to split your enemy’s jaw open.” She wants to tell him, I wish you could be my grandfather. She wants to say, Tell me what you know, tell me about the cities you have been to for your trade. The biggest town I have ever visited is this one, and I’ve only been here for half an hour, no more.

The grizzled man is about to describe a street in Milan called the Via Spadari, but someone calls to him and he turns away. A group of well-dressed customers are waiting to be served; their leader’s foot twitches, scuffing his fine boots, the toes pointed and long. Still, her host is courteous. He nods to Joan and excuses himself. The shirt of pounded iron slips away, and she stares after it. Is it possible to feel a loss for something one has never owned? If so, she thinks she feels it now.

The man with the anxious foot notices her lingering. He appears to be in his early twenties, handsome and strong; her sister, she thinks, would like him. He reminds her of a prince from a tale with castles, pots of gold, and cherry orchards. But when he sees her, he frowns, wrinkling his nose. Oh, is that how it is? She sticks her tongue out. Salaud is at her feet, but her uncle is gone. She runs off in the direction of the jewelers’ stalls to look for her sister. Catherine likes metalwork, too, just of a different kind.

Everywhere she turns, something is happening. In the distance, she sees a pair of acrobats nearly collide with a cart of vegetables. The cart owner shakes his fist at them, and the acrobats flip away to another clearing.

There are people, like the angry cart owner, selling surplus goods from their farms. There are people who have a single chicken to peddle. There are merchants bending over scales and rulers. There are prostitutes, the only vendors who don’t congregate in one area. Business is better if they spread out, each woman to her own door, alley, or wall. Some are seasonal workers, available solely for the duration of the fair, others professionals, women who commit themselves to the art of love year-round. They hover mostly in windows, where they watch and wait, the more audacious blowing kisses at those below.