urned and had greeted her
with the utmost fondness, to the no small wonderment of the
gentlewoman. Accordingly, as soon as fair weather was come, Madam
Beritola embarked with Currado and his lady in their vessel, carrying
with her the two kids and the she-goat (on whose account, her name
being everywhere unknown, she was styled Cavriuola[105]) and setting
sail with a fair wind, came speedily to the mouth of the Magra,[106]
where they landed and went up to Currado's castle. There Madam
Beritola abode, in a widow's habit, about the person of Currado's
lady, as one of her waiting-women, humble, modest and obedient, still
cherishing her kids and letting nourish them.

[Footnote 105: _i.e._ wild she-goat.]

[Footnote 106: A river falling into the Gulf of Genoa between Carrara
and Spezzia.]

Meanwhile, the corsairs, who had taken the ship wherein Madam Beritola
came to Ponza, but had left herself, as being unseen of them, betook
themselves with all the other folk to Genoa, where, the booty coming
to be shared among the owners of the galley, it chanced that the nurse
and the two children fell, amongst other things, to the lot of a
certain Messer Guasparrino d'Oria,[107] who sent them all three to his
mansion, to be there employed as slaves about the service of the
house. The nurse, afflicted beyond measure at the loss of her mistress
and at the wretched condition where into she found herself and the two
children fallen, wept long and sore; but, for that, albeit a poor
woman, she was discreet and well-advised, when she saw that tears
availed nothing and that she was become a slave together with them,
she first comforted herself as best she might and after, considering
whither they were come, she bethought herself that, should the two
children be known, they might lightly chance to suffer hindrance;
wherefore, hoping withal that, sooner or later fortune might change
and they, an they lived, regain their lost estate, she resolved to
discover to no one who they were, until she should see occasion
therefor, and told all who asked her thereof that they were her sons.
The elder she named, not Giusfredi, but Giannotto di Procida (the name
of the younger she cared not to change), and explained to him, with
the utmost diligence, why she had changed his name, showing him in
what peril he might be, an he were known. This she set out to him not
once, but many and many a time, and the boy, who was quick of wit,
punctually obeyed the enj