“Ubi Lycei heres reges docuit, el sapiential en tectis ambulavit, Mercator verborum ultimum munus reliquit. Quaerite benedictionem noctuae ubi philosophia nata est,” Darcy read slowly, his classical education serving them well.
Her father translated. “Where the Lyceum’s heir taught kings, and wisdom walked in covered halls, the merchant of words left his final gift. Seek the owl’s blessing where philosophy was born,” he said, his voice quickening. “The Lyceum, Aristotle’s school in Athens. And the owl, which is Athena’s symbol, the goddess of wisdom.”
“Athens,” Elizabeth said. “We are bound for Greece.”
Elizabeth, her father, and Darcy each carefully copied the inscription into their journals as twilight deepened around them.
“We shall need to inform Captain Morrison of our need to reach Piraeus,” her father said. “For now, I am too weary for further exploration.”
“Papa, you should rest,” Elizabeth agreed, noting the fatigue in her father’s bearing.
Darcy offered, “If it is agreeable to you, sir, I will see ifthe inn has a maid who could accompany Elizabeth and me on a brief tour of the city this evening. Then we can all see the city fresh tomorrow.”
Back at their lodgings, her father retired to his chamber, leaving Darcy, Elizabeth, and an attentive English-speaking woman named Bianca Rosellini to continue their Roman adventure. The three emerged onto the lamp-lit street.
Darcy hailed a carriage. “Where shall we begin?”
“The fountains,” Signora Rosellini replied. “They are unlike anything else in the world.”
At the center of the city, they arrived at the Trevi Fountain, where the sound of cascading water created a symphony in the warm evening air. The baroque masterpiece was illuminated by torches, creating a scene of almost magical beauty.
An elderly artist sat near the fountain’s edge with his sketching materials spread around him like a painter’s coat. His hands moved with surprising speed and precision as he captured the fountain’s grandeur.
“Buona sera,” Elizabeth called in Italian. “Your work is beautiful.”
The old man looked up with twinkling eyes and a smile on his lined face. “Grazie, signorina.You are English,si? I am Mario Benedetti. I have been drawing Roma for more years than you have been alive.”
“Might we commission some drawings?” Elizabeth asked in English, producing her set of fine chalks and her journal. “I would gladly trade these for some miniatures of the city’s most beautiful sites.”
Signor Benedetti examined her art supplies withundisguised pleasure. “These aremagnifico! Si, si, we make a trade that will make us both happy.”
What followed was a delightful hour of artistic collaboration. When Elizabeth mentioned the dolphins that they had seen in the wake of theMary Catherine,the artist drew them cavorting on the edges of her journal pages. Then he created exquisite miniatures in her journal of the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, theCastel Sant’Angelo,and a dozen other landmarks, exhibiting skill born of long practice. Finally, he gestured for Darcy and Elizabeth to pose before the fountain itself.
Using two full pages, he sketched rapidly. “Una bella memoria,” he said. “A beautiful memory of your time in the Eternal City.”
As Signor Benedetti put the finishing touches on their portrait, he studied Darcy with the shrewd assessment of an artist accustomed to reading human nature.
“You wish to impress thebella signorina, si?” he asked. “The Colosseum, the Forum, the monuments of war and victory, these are impressive, but they speak of power, notamore.”
“I…that is…”
Signor Benedetti continued, “To win a lady’s heart in Roma, you must take her to theVilla Giuliaat sunset, orIsola Tiberinaat dawn. There, the morning light turns the river to gold, and the island seems to float like a dream. But the most romantic…” he leaned closer conspiratorially. “The most romantic is Pincian Hill, where lovers have walked since the time of Augustus.”
Signora Rosellini nodded in agreement.
Elizabeth attempted to maintain proper composure,though the old artist’s romantic advice thrilled her. “Sounds lovely.”
“Tomorrow evening,” Darcy said suddenly, his intense gaze meeting hers. “Would you?that is, if your father or Signora Rosellini is available?enjoy seeing the sunset from Pincian Hill?”
“I should like that very much,” Elizabeth replied, aware that his intention went beyond mere sightseeing.
Thanking the artist, they made their way back through Rome’s ancient streets, the city’s magic settling around them like a warm cloak.
26
Early the next morning, Elizabeth woke to the gentle patter of rain against the windows of theAlbergo del Sole.Rome in the rain held its own particular magic.
Throwing her window open, she inhaled the rich scent of dampened earth mingled with spring flowers blooming in window boxes and courtyards. A gentle gust of wind carried another aroma from nearby, rich and savory, with tomatoes and herbs, that made her stomach flutter in anticipation of a cuisine unlike anything she had tasted in England.
