Achille had been having a splendid time in the Sinti camp.

To be honest, as much as he respected and liked the Padrone, it was nice to not be on some errand or other for him. The Padrone was a humane and decent guy, but you know, sometimes he became so caught up in what he was doing ransoming some poor soul from the Barbary Corsairs, smuggling some stray member of the Company away from hostile authorities, whatever -- that he seemed to forget that the people who worked for him actually had lives of their own. Yes, if need be, Achille would go to the ends of the earth and fight the very demons of hell if il Professore asked him tobut it certainly was pleasant having a little break now and then. And it didnt hurt being away from Lizabetta either. The way she scolded and harangued him, youd think she was married to Achille, rather than working for him. Madona Mia! That girl has a tongue like a rapier. May the Holy Saints preserve any poor fellow who does marry her someday!

So Achille had to admit it was nice sitting around in the Sinti camp here in the mountains and playing music while la Contessa and Devi sorted out whatever it was they were sorting out. Achille and the musicians among the Sinti men had become great friends. They had been teaching him many of their songs, and he had been showing them a lot of Boccherini and Vivaldi

As the players finished the Sinti love song they had been wending their way through, Achille looked at the one who was called Samru, who in turn looked at his brother Jakob. Samru was the man who had originally loaned Achille a guitar on that first night that he and Devi had been in the camp. Samru was the outgoing one: Jakob played violinhe didnt talk much. But he could play that violin like nobodys business!

Jakob shrugged, and Samru, grinning, began slowly and softly playing some familiar chords. Achille smiled as he and Jakob started playing along.

La Follia! shouted their cousin Micaela, as she dug out her castanets from a pouch by the log she was sitting on. Achilles smile broadened into a grin that matched Samrus. Almost every country, every people had some version of La Follia .as did different composers, from Handel, to Vivialdi. Achille had played the Vivialdi and Corelli versions for the brothers and they had gotten some new ideas that they had meshed into their own versions of the ancient melody. Now the growing group around the fire worked through one variation after another: first low and gentle, then grand and statelyeventually picking up speed, and adding more and more embellishments in what to Achilles ear sounded like a Spanish tradition, music that spilled into the night with a glorious ferocityand an edge of painthe pain that you only understand if you have lived life fully and well, and which only musicians and poets seem to be able to truly express.

Micaela was now up and dancing, as her castanets clattered in precise staccato bursts, perfectly matched along with the swelling chords as they accelerated

Suddenly, as if by unspoken command, they all dropped back into a slow and majestic tempo, for one last repetition of the themethey were done with the songand they were done in a larger sense as well. As silence fell again and all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire, Achille slowly rose and walked over to Samru. He handed the guitar back to the Sinti man.

Mille grazie.

Samru simply nodded. He had not regretted loaning an instrument to this Gadjo from the south, this man whose fingers could make a guitar sing with such complexity, such fire.

Then he sighed.

Time you must leave soon, eh?

Achille looked thoughtful for a moment, and then glanced back at Devi.

Yes, my friend. It is time. There is work to be done in Venezia.