Chapter Thirteen
Whenever Marietta went to the Pietà she had to pass by the prison with its arches and white stone walls. It was five years now since Domenico had been shut away from her and she saw it as a test of her faith in him that she should face up to the sight of his place of incarceration. She always paused on the Paglia Bridge to rest her hands on the balustrade and look deliberately at that other dreadful bridge that so elegantly linked the Wells with the Doge’s Palace. Always her thoughts went to the day when Domenico had crossed it. Had she known in time that it was to happen, she would have stood on this spot day and night in order that he see her. She might even have caught the flicker of his hand behind the ornamental stonework.
If only Domenico could have had a son throu
