Rome was not Venice; it was rough, plague ridden, almost derelict. Mountains of decaying refuse poisoned the water. Since early August, it had been revolting from the King of Naples’s government. The urine-discolored streets were nothing but potholes littered with garbage, pariah dogs, and beggars and whores of all sexes drawn helplessly from the overtaxed surrounding farms and towns—the whole covered by fat flies that rose snarling in unison. Dead horses, donkeys, and children were thrown into vacant houses on ruined streets and left for rats and dogs because it was easier than dragging the corpses outside the city gates. Even buzzards found their way into these charnel houses. For a moment Margery wondered if it was snowing: ashes floated everywhere. The chief industry consisted in burning the marble of classical Rome to produce lye.

The pilgrims were already there; Margery joined them at the Hospital of St. Thomas of Canterbury, the hostel for English pilgrims in the Via Monserrato.

She was given a room with shutterless windows that opened onto a back garden. A neighbor’s jasmine encumbered the hot breeze. An arbor covered half the yard; broad leaves caught the shadows of broad leaves above, their mass suggested by tones of light, the green grapes immature. The old garden wall had the wisdom to be stupid, its mortar spongy, its mass suggested by edges.

Margery exulted in lucidity as though her mind were erect. She untied Jesus’s codpiece. Jesus gravely lifted each leg so she could peel his hose off; he was starting to enjoy the attention. Margery felt the charm of taming a skittish animal, shy with its emotions, then completely present. Mullions’ dull shadows on the whitewashed wall, mosquitoes adrift in the corners of the ceiling, chatter of unseen birds and the monotonous scales of someone’s flute. Through the leaves the sky was an afterthought.

He exhaled loudly; she could hear the tension leaving him. His bony face softened, disheveled and staring. Pre-come gathered in a sticky puddle below his navel; he kept losing his erection. She drew her forearm across her brow but her arm was as sweaty as her face. Her outer lips were moist and slightly parted, swelling in helpless lechery. She felt his breath on her curls and clit, his saliva left a surprising coolness on her ass and thigh.