Just beyond the gate, just past the dirt-stained brick face of the Aurelian Wall constructed more than a century and a half ago, the hard-packed, well-traveled road split into two. Battista led his small group to the left and onto the Via Cassia, the major thoroughfare leading all the way to Florence.He was not well pleased to have left so late in the day; he had all intentions of setting off at day’s first light. But Michelangelo did not travel as quickly or as well as the others, and Battista made concessions to his elder friend with but a little annoyance.“I will enjoy this journey so very much more than the one which brought me here,” Michelangelo grumbled to Frado, who rode beside him. “Granacci and Gianotti were very cranky for the entire two days.”Battista shared a sidelong glance with Aurelia, seeing the same amusement in her light-dappled eyes, never so brilliant, even through her veil, never so green, as when the sunlight gleamed through them. Michelangelo complained halfheartedly; his two friends were invaluable to him, as loved as he was loved in return.
