
The Root
“Come, Pietro,” Cosimo said. “I have fodder for your jests.”
Pietro cast aside his wineskin and eyed his master with as much contempt as he thought wise.
“Oh, don’t pout, Pietro,” Cosimo said softly. “It was all in fun. Isn’t that what I pay you for?”
“You humiliated me.”
“Are you to tell me that’s the first time a woman has laughed at your deformity? Seen that stub between your stunted legs?”
“Lady Eleanora didn’t laugh,” Pietro replied meekly. Cosimo bristled his black mustache.
“No, quite right,” he said. “But as it turned out she wasn’t very particular, was she? Read the rest of this entry »







