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They needed blood. The pages needed blood.
He hurried back to his brother, and, by candlelight, they sat with their hands linked, each touching the book. The loose pages held instructions, Marco knew it. He pulled them out. Other pages were bound, so he left them intact. Luciano had to draw on one of the pages, he had to mark it, he said, and it had to be in blood. Marco pricked his arm and Luciano drew a picture in his blood on the page. Luciano had to have the page, had to. One page had a drawing that called to him. He used the edge of his knife to slice out the page. He slid it inside his pillow along with the pages that held the recipes. Marco prepared to return the book to his father’s rooms.
The roar of their father’s voice was nearly enough to blow out the candle. It guttered and flickered, then strengthened again. “What are you doing?”
Giovanni grabbed Marco’s small arm, dragged him upright, and pulled him from the bed. “I know you stole my book! This is a gift for your new mother. How dare you?”
“I’m sorry, Papa, I’m sorry. I thought it called to me, but I was wrong. It is blasphemous. I was bringing it back to you. We don’t want it.”
Giovanni’s heart pounded hard. He said between gritted teeth. “It is merely a book, of no importance at all. Only a book. Go to bed.” And he grabbed the book and left their bedchamber.
Giovanni was frightened. He remembered his young groom
Franco was called to kill his compatriots, remembered how he’d told Giovanni about the two brothers, the twins. All along he’d believed the groom was lying, making it up. Ridiculous, but now—Marco had said the pages called to him? Just as his groom had said?
He sat up with the book all night, but he couldn’t understand anything in it. The next morning, he summoned the visiting Jesuit, here to officiate his marriage. He wrapped the book in a white cloth and put it in a box. He called the Jesuit aside. “Father, please take this book away with you. Back to Rome. I no longer want it in my home.”
The Jesuit took the book without a word. “As you wish, my lord. However, I am not to see Rome for quite some time. I travel to England at week’s end. With your blessing, I will take it there, far away from your lands.”
The book left soon after.
Marco and Luciano stood on the ramparts of the castle, watching the priest ride away. They thought they heard the book crying, crying for the parts of it left behind.
Soon, from one of the pages, Luciano found how to get the blood he craved. And how to make it palatable.
THE SECOND DAY
WEDNESDAY
According to a published list in [the] 15th century, a different species of raptor was assigned to different ranks in society. How strictly this was adhered to, no one is very sure.
From The Boke of St. Albans, published 1486:
Emperor—eagle or vulture
King—gyrfalcon
Prince—peregrine falcon
Duke—Falcon of the Rock (another name for peregrine)
Knight—saker or sakeret
Squire—lanner or lanneret
Lady—merlin
Young man—hobby
Yeoman—goshawk
Priest—sparrow hawk
Holy water clerk—musket
Knave/servant—kestrel
—THE FALCONRY CENTRE
