Today is the day we will arrive in Florence. I have sat still making no noise behind two large barrels of wine and dry-goods for two nights and a day and I am horribly cramped. I can barely contain my excitement thinking about the new life that is awaiting me in Florence, of starting over. I ate a few pieces of dried meat from one of the tubs. I chewed and chewed and stared out the window, hoping for a glimpse of land, though I probably wouldn't see it until we are right up close to Florence. I washed down the meat with a small gulp of wine, I peered into the flask and thought I was getting low and better fill up from one of the barrels in front of me., Afterall I don’t know when the next time I will come in sight of free food. I have no idea what awaits me in Florence but I am excited all the more. Florence is said to be the birthplace of the ‘Renaissance'. I thought about ‘The Dark Ages’ as they are called by most and how dreadful they sounded. My Father used to tell my brothers and I about how this great ‘Rebirth’ took place. He said that on one of the awful Crusades they had discovered Gunpowder created by the Chinese which made it so they could use these things called cannons to destroy castle gates and have easy-access to the fortress. This made it unsafe for all people dwelling in the castles and so some countries went under one rule. My thoughts drifted to those happy times when my Mother and Father would tell us stories around the fire on cold winter nights and my brothers and I would all curl up together under one big blanket and…fall…..asleep… I was woken from the depths of sleep by the excited shout of a sailor out on the main deck saying, “Land ho’!” I leapt up and ran to the window, pressing my face to the glass, staring out trying to catch a glimpse of Florence. I saw a port quickly approaching; clearly the winds were in our favor. I knew a little about boats and sails from my Grandfather who had been a learned fisherman. I knew that when the wind was at our backs pushing our sails, it was called a run downwind. In a few minutes we pulled up to a landing and had tied up. I must continue this journal entry when I am in a safer place. As soon as I heard the footsteps of the sailors coming down the ladder I jumped into action, I secured my satchel over my head and across my shoulders, pulled up the hood of my jerkin and ducked down next to the door to wait for the sailors. Everything happened so fast that it is hard to recall even now, but I will do my best. It happened in an order somewhat like this: one sailor walked through the door, I swung my bag and hit him full in the chest, he doubled over in pain, the other sailor ran into the room, I knocked a barrel of salt onto the both of them, pinning them to the ground. They cried out, and I ran. I climbed up a ladder as fast as my hands would take me , I came out onto the poop, scampered down onto the deck and ran as fast as I could. The sailors I had trapped in the hold emerged on the poop and yelled, “Oi! Get that boy!” The rest of the crew surrounded me; one tried to grab my arms, I landed a wild punch on his nose. He stepped back clutching at his face, which was now bleeding, while the others advanced. In one desperate leap, I jumped and grabbed the boom. I hung in midair and dangled above the boatmen, I gripped it harder, thought quickly, swung myself towards the dock then let go of the boom. Time seemed to slow down for me. The sailors watched, mouths agape, as I plummeted slowly through the air towards the ground. I landed on the dock on one knee, I shook intensely on the inside from the jump but I ignored the feeling and leaped up, hurdling past barrels and cargo, towards the city and some hiding place. I raced by people of all sorts: wide-eyed and excited children holding their parents' hands, merchants unloading goods from their boats, and fishermen clearing and untangling their nets. Some stared at me, wondering what a ‘boy’ of my age was doing racing down the docks with three angry sailors in hot pursuit, but most did not even notice as they were too occupied with their bartering of fish and goods. I thought of my Uncle Lothar, tripping and plowing over the barrel of salt that knocked me into the water, I gained a bit of speed and crossed my fingers. I ran straight into a tower of wine barrels, knocking them over on top of myself and part of the crowd- including the sailors! (Dear reader, I simply cannot express the utter joy of hearing a grown man–especially the serious and tough sailors–scream like little five-year-old girls).
It was pandemonium afterwards, and through the shouts and screams of the people and the apologizing of the two sailors I was able to slink away and out of the marina. Perhaps that wasn't the best way to start a new life, but mind it wasn’t completely my fault! I better write what happened next quickly as my eyelids are starting to droop and I have an exciting day tomorrow. What happened was this: I was so happy to stretch my legs after the cramped confines of ‘The Germaine’ that I wandered around for a bit, when I started to get hungry and thought I’d buy a treat for myself in the marketplace. I was already getting sick of the coarse meat I had been eating for the past two days. I asked directions to the market from a plump friendly-looking woman who owned a local pub with her husband. I went down some backroads advised by my friend, the pub keeper. I walked out of a dark and dingy alleyway into a sunny looking square, full of activity. There were vendors selling their wares, shoppers browsing, dogs barking and cats hissing. I was instantly filled with joy and felt so at home looking at all the friendly faces of the people that I forgot about my hunger and sat down with my back to a wall. It was so warm and the sun shone on my face in such a pleasant way that I started to drift off to sleep. I felt that in only a few seconds I was awake again. A great big dog was licking my face and someone was saying, “Oh goodie! Ginevra, he’s awake!!!” I had almost forgotten my disguise as a boy and cleared my throat trying to make my voice deeper, “Who’s there?” I squinted, I must have been asleep for some time as it had gotten quite dark already. Someone pulled the dog back and stepped forward, holding a torch close to her face. She was a tall, olive-skinned, dark haired girl. A small little face peered at me from around the older girls skirts. “I am Ginevra and this is my little sister Isabetta, who are you?” She emphasized you quite powerfully. “I–Im” I searched for a name. “Spit it out won’t you, I don’t have all day.” “I'm Matteo.” Ginevra laughed “Oh please, I am not a buffoon, you are a girl! And please never try that Italian accent on me again, any fool can tell you are a German!” “I–um–I…” “Oh come now tell me your real name and your business in Florence.” And so I told her and her sister my story. I liked her and I felt that I could trust her. She was gruff but I could see she meant no harm. She looked like she was in her early twenties and Isabetta about five or six. She asked me where I would stay and I said I did not know. The realization dawned on me that I had not thought of anything before I left: about the boy I would pretend to be, where I would stay, or how I would get money. I became tongue-tied and to my utter humiliation I started to silently weep. For the first time since my parents had died and I had begun this adventure I shed tears in front of perfect strangers. The dog–who I now realized was a big red greyhound (greyhounds in the Dark Ages were worth more than a common farmer and are still used for hunting because of their amazing speed)– sat down beside me, licking my hands. Isabetta came out from behind her sister and embraced me as I cried. “Come, stay with us. My Father and Mother could use a helpful hand around the house,” Ginevra said, urging me to stand up. Her Father (whose name is Niccoló) was not as eager to have another mouth to feed but Ginevra, Isabetta and their Mother (whose name is Vendramina and who I liked instantly) were able to convince him in the end. Isabetta showed me my new room up at the very top of the house (which is a quaint little town house). I liked it very much; it’s small but quite cozy. There is a tiny window that looks out onto the street with a teeny desk underneath. There's a small comfortable four poster bed with fine linen sheets ,warm wool blankets, a large mahogany wardrobe and a small nightstand on either side. Tomorrow, I will walk the two dogs (the one I met is Dante and the other greyhound who was asleep in the sitting room when I entered the house is called Troy), fetch water, help prepare the food, help Ginevra at the market and help with the laundry. I am no longer worried about the future because I am certain that Ginevra and her family will help make sure that I am provided for. I am already starting to feel the exhilarating effects of Florence wearing off on me. -Astrid Writ this day, 16th of September, 1415 A.D. In my new home in Florence, Italy Please do not steal! Helpful and kind critique is always welcome but please do not be mean! And yes I know this is a long entry but there's nothing I can do about that dear, scratcher. Also the 4th Entry might be a lot longer as I haven't started writing it. Song: In love with a ghost by Flowers Feat First: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/736134599 Next: Be patient, my child Previous: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/739941921
