Still, it wasn’t just the heady company of fellow Stravaganti that Sky enjoyed. He liked Prince Gaetano, who actually made him feel less uncomfortable than Alice’s father, even though he lived in palaces and was rich beyond Paul Greaves’s wildest dreams of a son-in-law. And then there was Sandro, at the other end of the scale, with not much more status than the mongrel dog who trailed round after him. A novice friar was as much above Sandro as a prince was above Sky; the boy couldn’t even read.
But he was Sky’s friend nonetheless, because he liked him. Sky wondered, as he lay wide awake holding the bottle, whether Sandro ever wondered where he, Sky, had come from. He never asked. Just accepted that he was there. That was one of the things that was comfortable about Sandro.
Sandro had in fact been wondering about exactly that. He had been spending more and more time hanging round Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines and less and less with the Eel. Ever since the night of Davide’s murder, his former admiration of his employer had started to wane. Certainly Enrico fed him and gave him lodgings, or at least gave him the silver that bought these things. But that was just payment for Sandro’s services. Brother Sulien gave him food and shelter without wanting anything in return and Sandro loved him for it. And there was more; Sandro had a secret. Ever since the day he had helped Sulien and Brother Tino make Vignales in the laboratory, Sandro had been trying to learn to read.
Sulien was teaching him his letters from a big illuminated Bible. Sandro loved the pictures that went round the letters at the beginning of each chapter. ‘A’ for Adam, with its pictures of the first man and woman and the apple and the serpent, just like another picture in a chapel he had seen on the other side of the river. Sandro hadn’t understood the wall paintings then, but now Sulien told him the stories that went with all the pictures.
The first man and woman had been very unhappy; Sandro understood that. When they had disobeyed their Lord they had been banished from their garden for ever. An angel barred the way back, and that began with an ‘A’ too. Sandro also knew what ‘S’ looked like because it began the name of King Solomon, as well as Sulien and Sandro. And, even more amazingly, his name began with an ‘A’ as well, because it was short for Alessandro. He was rapidly unwrapping the mysteries of language and the excitement of stories. And if he imagined the temple of Solomon as being rather like Saint-Mary-of-the-Lily, perhaps it did not matter very much.
No one had ever told Sandro stories before. The nuns in the orphanage had been too busy; they had taught him his catechism, so that he knew the words, but he had never known what any of it meant. Or that it related to something about which there were stories. His lessons with Sulien were nothing like those with the nuns anyway.
The pharmacist, having taught him a letter, would show him how to find it on his pots and jars. And, when Sandro’s eyes were weary of letters, he would take him into the church and tell him stories about what was painted there. There were two paintings that Sandro knew now, about the poor man who had been nailed to a cross of wood. One was on a huge painted cross that hung down between the friars’ stalls and the congregation’s pews. It was so sad, with what looked like real drops of blood trickling from the hands and feet.
Sandro preferred the other one, which was a wall painting, showing the same melancholy scene, but with the man’s father above him and a dove between the two of them. Sandro thought it must be a comfort for the red-headed man on the cross to have them there while he suffered.
‘It’s not just a comfort for him,’ said Brother Sulien, ‘but for all of us. You see, that Father is yours and mine, too.’
‘Nah,’ said Sandro. ‘I haven’t got a father – you know that.’
‘You’ve got that one,’ said Sulien. ‘We all have. And he gave his own Son’s life for us.’
‘Not for me,’ said Sandro.
‘Yes, even for you,’ said Sulien.
Then they would go and look at something more cheerful, like the frescoes in the Lady Chapel, showing the miracle wrought by the church’s patron Saint. The first Alfonso di Chimici, when already a wealthy perfumier, had been taken ill one day during Mass and been carried through to where the infirmary now stood. The friars had not known how to help him, but a vision of the Virgin had appeared to the pharmacist-friar of the day and advised the administration of unripe young grapes from their vineyards. Within days, Alfonso was cured and gave a large sum of money to the church to build an infirmary.
Sandro liked this story, because it was about a friar curing a di Chimici. ‘Just like you and the Duke,’ he told Sulien. And it had a happy ending – unlike most stories about the di Chimici.
*
When Sky at last arrived in Sulien’s cell, he sighed with relief. The friar wasn’t there; the room was still and quiet and Sky lay on the cot for a few minutes letting his pulse slow. He stretched his limbs in his novice’s robes and felt himself adapting to his Giglian role. Brother Tino. A young man without family, history or responsibilities. He suddenly felt ravenous and set off for the refectory.
There he found both Sulien and Sandro, tucking into bowls of frothy warm milk with cinnamon and freshly baked rolls.
‘Ah, Brother Tino, come and join us,’ called Sulien, moving along the bench. Most of the other friars had finished eating, so there was plenty of space.
‘What news?’ asked Sky, pouring himself some milk from an earthenware jug.
‘Niccolò di Chimici has given us a farm,’ said Sulien.
‘Really?’ said Sky. ‘Why?’
‘Because we saved his life,’ said Sulien. ‘Prince Fabrizio sent me the deeds. It’s only a little homestead, on the other side of the Argento, but Brother Tullio is pleased, because he can grow more vegetables there.’
Wow, thought Sky. Fancy being so rich you could just hand over a farm as a thank-you present!
‘And the Duchessa has arrived,’ said Sandro, who had been bursting to tell what he knew. ‘I’ve seen her.’
‘What’s she like?’ asked Sky.
Sandro shrugged. ‘Hard to say. She wears a mask. But she’s got a pretty figure and lots of hair.’
‘You shall see for yourself, Tino,’ said Sulien. ‘We are invited to the Bellezzan Embassy for morning refreshment. Don’t eat too many rolls now.’
‘But “we”’s not me,’ said Sandro, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. ‘I haven’t the manners for it. I’ll see you later.’
*
Rodolfo was waiting when they arrived at the Embassy. He introduced Sky to William Dethridge and the Elizabethan held out both hands to the boy and studied him carefully, in much the way that Giuditta Miele had done.
‘Aye,’ he said at length. ‘Ye’ll do. Tell mee, how fares yonge George?’
It took Sky a moment or two, thrown by Dethridge’s way of talking, to realise that he meant Georgia.
‘She’s fine,’ he said. ‘But anxious to get back to Talia. Almost as keen as, you know, Falco,’ he added under his breath. ‘Any luck with the talismans?’
It was Sulien who answered. ‘We are to go to your world again, Giuditta and I, taking new talismans for Georgia and the young prince. Ones that will bring them here.’
‘The only problem,’ said Rodolfo, ‘is that they will need to give up their old ones. How do you think they will respond to that idea?’
‘I think that Georgia will not like it,’ said a low voice, and Sky realised that the Duchessa had silently entered the room. He jumped to his feet, confused.
A beautiful young woman in a green silk dress was approaching. He had no doubt that she was beautiful, in spite of her mask. Behind it, violet eyes sparkled, and her glossy hair – lots of it indeed, Sandro, thought Sky – tumbled in carefully arranged long curls over her shoulders. She was followed by a woman Sky didn’t recognise, an elegant middle-aged one, who stopped to talk to Rodolfo.
‘Your Grace,’ stammered Sky, attempting a bow.
‘Call me Arianna, please,’ she said, taking his hand and leading him to a new seat beside
her. ‘You are a friend of Georgia and Falco and a member of the same Brotherhood as my father. You are welcome in Talia.’
‘Yow moste ask the yonglinges,’ said Dethridge. ‘Ask them if they wolde give up their olde talismannes to make the journeye to this grete citee where they are needed.’
‘But they aren’t in London at the moment,’ said Sky. ‘They are on Easter holiday with me, in Devon. I’ve come from there tonight – I mean today.’
‘Easter?’ said Sulien. ‘I never thought to ask. Is it Easter in your world already?’
‘It was Good Friday there today,’ said Sky. ‘When is it in Talia?’
‘Not for another four weeks,’ said Rodolfo.
‘Is that because there’s been another time shift in the gateway?’ asked Sky.
‘No,’ said Sulien. ‘It is because of the fact that Easter is a movable feast and your world is more than four hundred years ahead of ours. It would have been unlikely for the dates of Easter to match.’
‘I can still ask the others about the talismans,’ said Sky. ‘But you mustn’t stravagate to my world until we’re back in London.’
‘It is an unwelcome delay,’ said Rodolfo. ‘It means we shall have less time to accustom them to this city before the wedding.’
‘But it cannot be helped,’ said Sulien. ‘When do you all return home?’
Sky calculated. ‘Four days,’ he said. ‘I’ll come and tell you, the night we get back, and then you can come the next day. I can look out for you,’ he added, feeling peculiar at the thought of the friar and the sculptor turning up on his doorstep. He must make sure Rosalind was out.
Just then, Luciano was shown into the room, his eyes sparkling and his cheeks glowing. Sky knew immediately that he had been swordfighting with Gaetano.
‘Hi!’ he said to Sky, and then made a more formal greeting to the others, first raising the Duchessa’s hand lightly to his lips.
‘You look well,’ she said, smiling under her mask.
‘I feel well,’ he said simply.
Sky looked at them and felt sorry for Georgia. What a mess.
‘What do you think, Luciano?’ asked Arianna, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Would Georgia give up her flying horse for a new talisman?’
‘It would be hard for her,’ he said. ‘She loves horses and it’s her only link with Remora and Merla.’
‘We can but try,’ said Rodolfo. ‘We need her here. I am not so sure about Falco. It’s a risky strategy. If he is recognised by any member of his family, except Gaetano, who knows his choice, there’s no telling what might happen.’
‘Yet he is the one more likely to accept a new talisman from here,’ said Luciano. ‘Giglia is his city, after all – not Remora.’
Luciano walked back to the friary with Sky and Sulien.
‘Why does Doctor Dethridge talk like that?’ Sky asked.
‘Like what?’ asked Sulien.
‘It’s because Tino and my foster-father come from the same world, centuries apart,’ explained Luciano. ‘I’ve got used to it, but to other English speakers from our world, Doctor Dethridge sounds as if he’s speaking a very old-fashioned language.’
*
Arianna was going to change her dress but Rodolfo stopped her.
‘There is something else I must tell you,’ he said, but he waited so long to say what it was that Arianna thought he had forgotten she was there. Silvia had her eyes fixed on Rodolfo, waiting for his news.
At last he took Arianna’s hand in his and, sighing, said, ‘Duke Niccolò is going to ask you to marry him.’
Arianna felt numb. This was not like hearing that Gaetano was going to propose; this felt like being a small bird with a hawk circling in the air above her and she could see no way of escape.
‘If you wear the dress he sent, at the weddings, he will assume you look kindly on his offer,’ said Silvia.
‘When?’ said Arianna. She could scarcely find her voice. ‘When is he going to ask?’
‘I should think the night before the weddings – or perhaps the wedding feast itself, so that he can make the announcement in front of all his family,’ said Rodolfo.
‘Then I am trapped,’ said Arianna bitterly. ‘What will he do when I refuse him?’
‘Not so hasty,’ said Silvia. ‘You don’t have to refuse him outright.’
‘Silvia!’ said Rodolfo. ‘You are not serious.’
‘I am completely serious,’ said Silvia. ‘At least about getting my daughter and my husband out of this city alive. It may be necessary for Arianna to seem to go along with his plans. It will buy us time to work out what to do.’
Arianna shuddered. The Duke was repulsive to her. He was not unhandsome, even though so much older than her, and he was a cultured, civilised man, who valued art and literature and music. He was fabulously wealthy and could give her anything she might ever want. Except her freedom and the freedom of her city. But he was a murderer. And she did not, could not, love him. But her own mother was suggesting that she should not turn his proposal down out of hand.
Worst of all, Arianna guessed that Luciano knew of this development and had said nothing. What else was all this fencing about? It was pathetic; she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Luciano against the Duke. She wished with all her heart that they had never come to Giglia.
Next morning, Paul himself came to collect Sky; the young people were out riding, he explained. He also explained that only one horse was Alice’s, the one called Truffle. He was looking after Conker, the horse that Georgia rode, for a friend, and she and Nicholas had to take turns when they were both down together.
He clearly saw nothing odd in Georgia’s friendship with the younger boy and nothing odd about his daughter’s fondness for Sky either. He sat in Nana’s parlour as much at his ease as in his own kitchen, chatting about horses and drinking her coffee, which was much less nice than at Ivy Court. Sky decided that he liked Alice’s dad very much; he was the sort of person who was at home everywhere and accepted everyone on their own terms.
Paul hardly spoke to Rosalind, but he looked at her often and Sky wondered what he was thinking. He tried to see his mother as she might appear to Paul. A thin, pale-skinned, very fair woman in her late thirties, with a ready smile and expressive dark blue eyes. He wondered if she looked as fragile to Paul as she did to him. Sky suddenly felt fiercely protective of her. In all his seventeen years she had not dated anyone to his knowledge. Was it going to happen now? And with Alice’s father, of all people! Sky couldn’t imagine how that was going to affect his own relationship with Alice.
When they reached Ivy Court and found the others still out, Paul offered Sky the chance to drive his Shogun in the grounds. It felt enormous, sitting behind the wheel, but Sky managed to drive it without stalling and even changed gears with only one crunch. He was still in the driving seat when they finished a complete circuit and returned to the front of the house. Alice was waiting with her thumb stuck out.
‘Any chance of a ride?’ she smiled at him.
‘Not till you’ve had a shower,’ said Paul. ‘I don’t want my car reeking of horse. I have to drive it to my office, you know.’
But, horsey or not, Alice gave Sky a quick kiss when he got out of the car and, since it didn’t seem to bother her father, Sky put his arms round her and kissed her back.
‘You can go and get your sword-fighting out of the way while I shower,’ she said. ‘Nick says he’s not going to bother till after – he’ll only need another one after you’ve finished. He’s waiting for you in the yard.’
Sky went round to the back and found Nicholas still talking to Conker. Sky himself was a little nervous of horses, never having had anything to do with them, and this one struck him as huge. But he was a handsome beast, with his arched neck and long mane. Seeing Nicholas with him reminded Sky of how little he knew about Georgia’s stravagation and the time when the di Chimici’s youngest prince had made his fateful decision.
‘I miss having my own horse,’
said Nicholas, looking up. ‘I mean, I used to have them around all the time, before my accident.’
‘But at least you can ride again now,’ said Sky. ‘And you would never have been able to do that if you had stayed in Talia. Or fence, come to that.’
‘That’s why I did it,’ said Nicholas, but he sighed so deeply that Sky decided to tell him about the Stravaganti’s plans straightaway.
‘I’d be sorry to give back Merla’s feather, of course,’ said Nicholas, his eyes shining. ‘But I’d do it if your friar could bring me something from Giglia.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Sky.
‘When are they coming?’ asked Nicholas eagerly.
‘As soon as we get back to London,’ said Sky.
‘So I could be back home in less than a week?’
‘I guess.’
‘Brilliant!’ Nicholas punched the air, then stopped. ‘What about Georgia?’
‘Well, do you think she’d be willing to give up her talisman?’ asked Sky. ‘You know her better than I do.’
‘I think it would be very hard for her,’ said Nicholas. ‘It was stolen twice, you know – by her awful stepbrother. The first time he broke it and the second time he kept it for nearly a year. We couldn’t go back and it was agony. She was so happy when the horse came back. It means a lot to her.’
‘More than seeing Luciano again?’ asked Sky softly, but Nicholas couldn’t answer that.
Giuditta had finished the macquette of the Duchessa’s head. The hair was only suggested, because she had already sculpted it; it was the face she had made it for.
‘Remarkable,’ said Rodolfo, who had accompanied Arianna to her latest sitting. ‘You have caught her to the life.’
‘Will you hold on to the back of this chair, your Grace?’ asked the sculptor. ‘I should like to sketch your hands as if holding a ship’s rail.’
Arianna was quite happy with this arrangement, which left her free to talk. Giuditta was taciturn as always, but her workshop was, unusually, empty, so Arianna and Rodolfo were free to speak to her about private matters.