Only then did Nina look beyond the men to the mule, and for an instant she forgot to be sad. How could she do anything but smile at the sight of such a ridiculous creature? He was almost as big as a horse, but a horse made of sinew and bone and flapping ears and enormous yellow teeth. She laughed, not unkindly, but the animal took offense all the same, stamping his feet in outrage, rolling his eyes, and hawing away like the worst sort of out-of-tune violin. Only when Niccolò produced an apology in the form of a carrot and a hard scratch between the ears did the mule grow calm, though no less wary of the stranger who had thought to laugh at him.

“Nina, this is Bello.”

“Truly? Bello the beautiful?”

“My father’s idea of a joke. Anyone else would have turned him into stew meat years ago, but I’m fond of him. All he needs is a bit of kindness to keep him moving.”

“Isn’t that true of most creatures?”

“It is indeed.”

As soon as Bello had been hitched to the cart, they said farewell to Mario and Sofia and headed inland at a pace that was only fractionally faster than if they’d been walking.

“Bello may be slow, but he’ll get us there in the end,” Niccolò commented. “And we’re only going as far as my aunt’s farm tonight.”

“Oh,” Nina said, and then she couldn’t think of any way to continue the conversation. She did want to know more about Mezzo Ciel, and Niccolò’s family, and the woman named Rosa who, according to Mario, would insist on knowing everything, but not just yet. Not when she was so tired from her sleepless night that she could barely sit upright.

Again Niccolò seemed to understand, and apart from offering the occasional observation about the places they passed, he was happy to let them travel in silence. It would have been a pleasant journey but for the rutted and stony road, which made the cart bounce so endlessly that her entire body felt like one large bruise before the first hour was done. The morning sunshine was relentless, too, and by the time they stopped at midday to water the mule and eat some lunch she had a headache so strong that her skull was in danger of cracking open.

They sat under the silvery boughs of an olive tree and ate the bread and cheese and apples that Sofia had given them, and Niccolò filled a tin cup with water from the cask and handed it to her.

“Go on—drink it all. It will help with your headache. Is it really bad?”

“You noticed?”

“You’ve been rubbing at your temples for more than an hour. If it gets any worse, let me know.”