and naked as the day he was born.

Like mice smelling cheese, heads began to peer out from windows and balconies and alleys and stores as more villagers were keen to see what the ruckus was about. Davido, however, could not stand to look up. He knew from the crowd’s collective gasp that it could be none other than Nonno.

“Please,” said Nonno as he rose to step from his wagon, “he is a stupid boy, I know, but he—”

“Stay where you are, old man!” Giuseppe cut him off.

“He made a different sauce.” Nonno looked desperately at several faces in the crowd. “He may be guilty of love, but he made a different pot of sauce. He didn’t serve you the sauce that—”

“No!” Giuseppe raised his voice to thwart that of Nonno’s. “Just to me, he did.”

Nonno turned to face Giuseppe. “You, sir,” Nonno said wryly, “seemed to deserve it.”

“Shut up, old man, or I will put a bolt through his brain. This grandson of yours, the villain, the ruin of my daughter.”

Mari looked to Nonno and then to the crowd. “What the man says is true! Davido served you all from a fresh sauce. It was I and only I who served Giuseppe.”

“Shut up!” Giuseppe barked over his shoulder while keeping his eye and the crossbow focused on Davido’s back. He glanced upon a few faces in the crowd and could see their mental wheels spinning in a direction he did not like. “Do you see how my daughter disgraces me, disrespects me?”

“I am not your daughter!”

“You certainly are not!” Giuseppe yelled back at her. “For no flesh of mine would grow to be such a puttana!” “Do not call her that!”

“What?” said Giuseppe, raising his crossbow and refocusing his attention upon Davido. “You dare speak? He who’s turned my daughter to a harlot?”

Davido shifted to face Giuseppe, mortally embarrassed that his naked buttocks now faced Nonno and much of the crowd. At least his hands were bound before him, providing a slight bit of coverage to his genitals. He had no doubt he would be dead soon, and he hoped that that certainty would take his attention off his own pain and pathetic nakedness. Alas, such was not the case, and as he spoke up to defend Mari, resolved to what he must do, he was acutely aware of it all: the splitting ache in his head, the throbbing arrow-pierced holes in his neck and back, the shame that he had brought upon Mari, the devastation to Nonno. “Do not call her that,” Davido repeated firmly.

“You, villain,” roared Giuseppe as he stormed forward, “are in no place to make demands.” Giuseppe spun the butt-end of his crossbow around and jammed it into Davido’s gut.

Mari screamed; Nonno yelled; Signore Coglione moaned; Cosimo, Mucca and a hundred others gasped. Davido dropped to his knees, the wind knocked from his body.

Now Giuseppe raised the crossbow and held it directly between Davido’s eyes. “Admit your guilt, villain, and I may spare your life.”

“My life,” said Davido, gasping for breath, “what do I care for my life? But leave her be. She is innocent.”

“Innocent?” mocked Giuseppe. “Would an innocent serve a sauce so crude? Would the innocent be found laying in the nude?”

“It is all my doing,” said Davido. “She is blameless.” “Not true,” said Mari pleadingly. “My love, why do you say such things?”

“You know not what you say, girl!” Davido shouted. He was desperate and panting; saliva and blood dripped down his face. “Do not blame her. Her heart and mind are not complete, for I have swayed them with devilry and deceit. I have used Ebreo potions. I have bewitched her with Love Apples and ancient spells. I have used the blackest magic, the darkest Ebreo art to lower her virtue and steal her heart. Punish me. It is I who you must kill, for she did not act from her free will.”

Giuseppe had not expected the Ebreo to say such a thing. He’d imagined the puny boy would plead for his life, and he had no immediate response.

“Not true,” said Mari, breaking the brief silence. “He did nothing of the sort. He lies to protect me. He lies because he is brave and good.”

Davido glanced pleadingly at Mari. Why, his eyes seemed to ask, will you not let me run this ruse and spare you this misery?

“Oh, shut up!” Giuseppe snapped. “Look how the illicit lovers protect each other. But it matters not. The crime, the guilt, is all the same.”

“Then