Laurel and wild pine covered the high slopes of the small town of Toscana. Over the landscapes humble stone houses framed with chestnut trees stood in the shade of the many vineyards. Across the reed-beds along the river lay a home larger then the rest, deep within the valley.
Inside the kitchen gardens a young woman stood wringing out table linen and placing them on the hedge row to dry. She was a servitore who came from the village twice a week to help the housekeeper with the management of the house. Her father, a woodcutter in Cerreto Guidi, often sent her to work at the tavern in town or for some of the richer family houses, so to bring in more money for the winter. At twenty-five she still held all the beauty of youth, her copper skin still reflected the glow of the spring sun, raven hair shone as brightly as her eyes in moonlight and her lips were the reddest in all Florence.
The Caterina continued at her duties the entire afternoon, until the sunlight began to fade. Picking up her linen basket she began back into the house. She went to go through the servant passage but to her surprise found that the cook had locked it earlier than usual. Having no choice she went through the main door. But on crossing the hall she met a man.
Her master smelt of brandy but at least did not look queasy. No, he had something strange about his manner this evening, a look of desire in his eye. Caterina made to move past him and go to the laundry but he blocked her path. Gently removing the basket from her hands and placing it on the floor he took her by the arm.
Pulling her up the stair he dragged her along the corridor until they where out side his chamber. Putting his hand on her waist he pulled her in tighter. He surveyed her with his vast brown eyes for a moment. He smiled at her. A slight giggle escaped her lips.
“My love!” He said. “It seems a life time since last we met! The woodcutter does not expect you till late?"
She nodded.
"Good."