Chapter One

The Garden

Ramona Drottoveo was one of the chambermaids up at La Casa, the white marble palace in the valley of the Volturno, on the vast estate that had been in the Signora's family since the time of the Etruscans.

As Ramona worked "indoors" rather than "outdoors," and "upstairs" rather than "downstairs," she considered herself somewhat more important than the other workers on the estate.

She began to look down on those who tilled the land, laboring in the lemon groves, the vineyards, and the orchards, raising crops of sunflowers, chili peppers, tomatoes, olives, and big-bellied melons; and she disdained those who tended the buffaloes and other livestock and those who worked in the dairy and the stables.

Ramona now thought herself above those who beautified the Signora's magical gardens, where peacocks strutted and fountains played orchestral music, where rare orchids bloomed, roses blushed, and where the lushest lawns stretched into the blue distance as far as the eye could see.

She even put on airs before those who roasted hogs, stuffed thrushes, sculpted ice, kneaded bread, plucked ducks, prepared pastries, and polished silver plates and crystal goblets in the great vaulted kitchens.

Ramona was universally hated by the women, though not for this reason; being uppity was the least offensive of her sins. That which made women hate her made men worship her; and this made the women hate her most.

Yet they weren't jealous of her looks, for she was ugly. Had Ramona been a beauty, they would have found the adoration she inspired less obscene, and far more tolerable.

The truth was, Ramona was an albino. Her plump body was bereft of all pigment. Her hair was as white as the feathers of the doves in the Signora's ornamental dovecote, and she refused to braid it, wearing it always loose in a halo around her face and shoulders.

Her skin was a violent shade of pink, so colored by the blood flowing through it, and her livid moon face formed an ugly contrast with the white shade of her hair.

Ramona's eyelashes were long and white, leading some of the female staff to compare them to those of the pigs in the pens beyond the vegetable gardens. Her eyes, where most of the color in her body was concentrated, were also pink, like the eyes of the white rabbit you see in magic shows and picture books.

Yet, although she was coarse and candy-striped, the men of the estate flocked to Ramona, and vied with one another for her favors. The women accused her of being a witch and of using evil arts to lure their men away; but Ramona was no witch. She simply had that scent about her, that made a man in her presence forget the whole of his past life and seek to reinvent himself as a dog, if at that particular moment she wanted a dog. Or a cherry, or a new bonnet. Work could be lost, opportunities discarded, wives and babes could go hungry, poverty and death could be biting at his heels, but still he would kick them up in the air and risk it all for one whiff of Ramona's elixir.

This is really what made the women hate her.

During daylight hours, especially in summertime, Ramona would not emerge from La Casa, for the world was too bright a place for her to inhabit by day. In the evening, however, she walked in the gardens, in the manner of the Signora herself, taking the air, and singing softly to herself the local folk songs, for she fancied she had a voice and loved to sing.

The Signora knew of this nightly intrusion into her gardens, and sought to put Ramona in her place, but on the advice of her husband, who was then enjoying the benefits of a regular coupling with the upstart maid, the Signora said nothing.

And so Ramona strolled with the peacocks through the walkways where the grass was manicured by a dedicated team of twenty under-gardeners. It was as green as crunchy apples and so springy it still bore the trace of her footprints long after she had passed by. Indeed, it is said that Ovidio Gondulfo, the head gardener himself, was once seen prostrate in the acacia walk licking the imprints lovingly with his tongue after Ramona had left him for the bed of another man.

Then, when the scent hung plump in the air, and the wistful tenderness of the declining light made the garden the most romantic place on earth, Ramona would be accosted by countless admirers hiding in the topiary, imploring her to take pity on them and satisfy the agonized longing of their loins.

They came, not only from the estate, but also from the surrounding hills and sometimes even beyond. From the plains to the northeast and the west, and from the towns of Dragoni, Teano, Carinola, and Mondragone. The admirers came from all walks of life, and it is fair to say that as word of her charms spread and her popularity increased, Ramona grew cold toward the field laborers with whom, in the early days, she had been content to satisfy her urges in the hayricks and beneath the hedgerows.

"What, Stiliano Mamiliano, are you here again? Do you think I will do it with you after the last time? Why, the acorn that you feed to your pigs is a bigger prize than that which hangs between your legs."

Deflated, Stiliano's head disappeared into the foliage, only to be replaced by that of his younger brother, Ludovico, freshfaced and blushing.

"Will you do it with me, Ramona Drottoveo?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "My thing is much bigger than Stiliano's." A thump followed as Stiliano's boot met the seat of Ludovico's pants behind the hedge.

"I've no time for boys," replied Ramona. "I need a man who knows what's..."

Excerpted from Nectar © Copyright 2003 by Lily Prior. Reprinted with permission by Ecco, an imprint of HarperCollins. All rights reserved.