Enna has something in common with the young Lorenzo de' Medici: no one mourns her father's death. But Lorenzo lives in a palace, surrounded by family and friends, holding the future of Florence in his very hands; Enna, instead, has no one and nothin...
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Florence, 1470
Enna watched her hands in the watered morning light grazing the shadows under the large portico. Several blisters had bloomed from her tender palms after last night's chores in the kitchen, but she would get used to scrubbing, sooner or later. She must.
Leaning against a column, she watched people bustling about, busy with their own tasks. Enna barely knew how to use a needle, she had no milk in her breasts for the infants nor any knowledge in childcaring, and she'd almost managed to cut her thumb off while peeling a carrot, not to mention that she had no profession to teach the kids. But here at the Spedale everyone must contribute, and she wasn't utterly useless after all—she was good for cleaning floorboards. And that she had done, for a week or so now.
Life was simpler in this place than the one she had known, though somewhat richer. As an only child, Enna found this sort of large family living under the same roof strangely heartening; it felt good being part of it.
The Spedale degli Innocenti—the Hospital of Innocents—had been a refuge to her, as it was to foundlings and orphans of Florence. She called it home now.
"Here," chirped monna Cristina with a toothless smile as she thrust a small pouch in Enna's hands. "This money will do, lass. Don't be late."
At least she was trusted with a bunch of coins and a few errands, and had the spedalingo to thank for it. The superintendent had agreed to let her stay and work into the hospital after her recent recovery, rather than throw her back in the street she had come from.
"Poor man, it must be terribly dreadful for him to be surrounded by so many lively children." Monna Cristina shook her head with distressed expression, addressing her attention towards a plump, well-dressed man now crossing the portico in company of another fellow as a flock of toddlers swarmed around them.
"Why would that be, is he averse to kids?" scoffed Enna.
The elderly woman looked at her, then, suddenly remembered of her presence. "Ach, no. Not at all, my darling. But the joyfulness of these creatures must torment his soul, for his own son shall never laugh and play the same way. The boy is ailing from some foreign sickness, you know. May God have mercy on him." She crossed herself.
Enna just nodded, asking, "Why is he talking with the camerlengo, then? How rude to replace his offspring with an adopted child when his piteous son is still alive..."
"Enna, hold your tongue, for God's sake! He's checking on the investments of the corporation, I guess. He belongs to the Consiglio dei Trentasei."
The Council of Thirty-six. It was a delegation representing the Silk Guild, which funded the Spedale. The Council elected the spedalingo, the highest in charge, but it was the camerlengo who administrated the finances of the hospital.
