Well, I knew it was rude, but I didn’t know it was this rude. And, yes, I know there’s all sorts of other literary and historical significances to The Decameron: the foundation of Italian vernacular literature, the introduction of a new, earthy style of writing, a witness to the social dislocation produced by the Plague, the emergence of an urban, mercantile class. But, really, I challenge anyone reading this to come away with any other first impression than that it is astoundingly, jaw-droppingly rude.

You want to know how rude? I don’t think I can tell you without blushing. Oh, all right then. How about this then. A priest, Dom Gianni, convinces his rather dim friend, Pietro, that he can turn Pietro’s wife, Gemmata, into a mare and back again. Very useful for getting to market. Pietro and Gemmata agree, but Dom Gianni warns them that, when making the spell, they must not speak or the magic will not work. Suffice to say, the spell involves Gemmata naked and on all fours and a most unusual tail.

Throughout the book, priests, monks, friars and nuns are rampant, women demand their conjugal rights, and seek satisfaction elsewhere if left unsatisfied; craft and cunning is rewarded, stupidity gulled.

I don’t think I will ever see the Middle Ages in quite the same light again.