His sister Beatrice was also out of the question. She had been behaving very strangely ever since the weddings and the massacre at the Church of the Annunciation. Fabrizio sometimes wondered if she might be contemplating becoming a nun. But he couldn’t spare her to a convent yet. He needed her to be a support to Caterina when the next di Chimici heir was born. The Grand Duchessa’s pregnancy was just beginning to show – a tiny swelling under her waist that thrilled him when he placed his hand on it.
Rinaldo was already doing what he could, within the limitations of his role as a senior churchman. There was really only one di Chimici cousin Fabrizio could trust to help him – and that was Filippo of Bellona, Francesca’s older brother. So he sent for him.
Filippo answered the summons readily. He was twenty-three years old, just a year younger than Fabrizio himself, with no title, no power and no wife; in fact with nothing to do but wait for his father, Jacopo the Younger, to die. He was vigorous, restless and ripe for a new purpose to his life.
The two cousins met in the Palazzo Ducale in the little room that had once been Beatrice’s parlour, and was now a snug private study for the Grand Duke. It overlooked the River Argento and no one ever came here except by personal invitation.
They began with an exchange of courtesies about their families and Fabrizio told Filippo about Caterina’s condition, which was not yet public knowledge. Filippo said that his parents were well and that he would be staying with his sister, Francesca, and her husband, Gaetano, in the old di Chimici palazzo on the Via Larga.
‘I have not been there yet,’ he said. ‘I came straight here to see how I could be of help to you.’
Fabrizio was touched. This was what he wanted: a family member who was loyal and unquestioning. The cousins had all seen a lot of one another in the long childhood holidays they spent at Duke Niccolò’s summer palace in Santa Fina. Being much of an age, Fabrizio, Carlo and Filippo had always been particularly close and Carlo’s murder had left just the two of them.
‘My father let the Nucci get away with exile from Giglia,’ said Fabrizio. ‘I would not have been so lenient.’
‘I think Uncle Niccolò felt the same,’ said Filippo. ‘But Uncle Ferdinando overruled him, didn’t he? Your father could hardly be seen to disobey the Pope.’
‘Well,’ sighed Fabrizio, ‘the Church must be respected. I believe the Nucci are now living in Classe.’ He curled his lip. ‘What’s left of them, that is.’
The Nucci, who had killed Carlo and wounded him and Gaetano, had lost two of their sons and had only one left. The parents were living quietly with him and their two daughters in the City of Ships, down the coast from Bellezza. Fabrizio expected no further trouble from Filippo Nucci.
‘But there are other enemies we can do something about,’ he continued. ‘You remember what happened to Falco?’
‘It was a tragedy,’ said Filippo. As the youngest cousin, Falco, had been a great favourite with them all. First his body had been shattered in the accident with a horse and finally it appeared his mind had been affected and he had drunk poison. He was the only family member in di Chimici history to have taken his own life and he had been only thirteen.
‘It was,’ said Fabrizio. ‘But perhaps not in the way that you think. My father believed that the friends he made in Remora knew something they did not reveal. In particular the one they call Luciano, who is now a Cavaliere of Bellezza.’
‘The one who duelled with your father?’
‘The same one. He is the follower and friend of Senator Rossi, the Regent of Bellezza. And Father believed that both of them belonged to a secret order of scientists known as the Stravaganti.’
‘I have not heard that name,’ said Filippo.
‘They are a secret order,’ said Fabrizio. ‘And I am certain they practise black arts of sorcery and enchantment.’
‘Is that what made you pass the laws against magic?’
‘My father told me that he saw Falco,’ said Fabrizio quietly.
‘Saw Falco? When?’
‘At his own memorial race in Remora. He appeared on the flying horse. You remember it?’
‘I heard about it,’ said Filippo. ‘I was not at the Stellata in Falco’s honour, myself. But my father was and I remember he said that a young rider swooped over the campo on the winged horse. But it couldn’t have been Falco. He had been dead a month.’
‘Father swore it was an older Falco. It took him a long time to remember what he had seen, but before he died he believed that my little brother was taken to another place by the Stravaganti and cured of his ills. That they left a simulacrum of him here to die.’
‘But why would they do such a thing?’
‘That is one of the things I would like you to find out, cousin,’ said Fabrizio.
*
When Matt came out of the Scriptorium for his short lunch break, he found Luciano waiting for him with a strange figure. He looked like a hippy from the sixties, with long hair, flowing clothes and Matt thought he also had ribbons in his hair. All that was missing were the flowers and bells. Matt immediately distrusted him. And then he noticed that the stranger was looking at him intently. He was suddenly conscious of his lack of shadow and took a step back under the colonnade.
‘Hi, Matt,’ said Luciano. ‘This is Ludo. He’s one of the Manoush.’
That meant nothing to Matt; in his talks with Luciano, Cesare and Dethridge, the word hadn’t come up.
Luciano saw he was going to have to do some more explaining. He suggested they should all go to the Refectory, which was open even on a Saturday. It was far less busy than during the week and they easily found an empty table. The few students who were in the Refectory looked curiously at the Manoush, who stood out among their black robes like a jester at a funeral.
‘There are many here who do not know the Manoush,’ said Ludo composedly, looking at Matt.
‘Would you like to explain a bit about your people?’ said Luciano.
‘We are wanderers, without land or city,’ said Ludo. ‘We follow the old religion and celebrate its festivals wherever we find ourselves in Europa. We are musicians and healers and good with animals.’ He shrugged. ‘Many people do not like us.’
Luciano suddenly thought of something. ‘Are you safe in Padavia? There are new laws in the city against magic.’
‘We do not practise magic,’ said Ludo.
‘But the law covers everything that might be called superstition or occult practices,’ said Luciano. ‘And that includes following the old religion.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Ludo sharply.
‘Certain,’ said Luciano. ‘The laws were invented by Grand Duke Fabrizio, which means they are in effect in all the di Chimici cities too, and he persuaded the Governor to introduce them here. And the penalty is death.’
‘Then seven cities will be closed to us,’ said Ludo. ‘The Manoush will not like that. We do not like boundaries and barriers.’ He stood up, his food and drink untouched. ‘I must go back and warn my people.’
‘But didn’t you say you had a warning for me too?’ asked Luciano.
Ludo looked furtively round the Refectory.
‘Aurelio says to be careful of the di Chimici.’
‘Well, that’s good of him, but I think I know that. They’ve already tried to get me expelled from here.’
‘No, this is more. He says “Beware the heir”, but he didn’t say what that means.’
Matt was relieved to wake up in his own bed on Sunday. Not only would he have both Sunday and Monday off in Talia from the Scriptorium – Monday was the Feast of the Archangel Raphael apparently – but in his own world he had a whole week of half-term to look forward to. He yawned and stretched luxuriously and thought about going back to bed after a late breakfast. He hadn’t set either of his alarms and it was already ten o’clock.
He wandered down to the kitchen in his bare feet and saw that his parents and Harry had finished their breakfast long ago. Their places had been tidied aw
ay and the dishwasher was stacked. He had no idea where they all were. He poured himself orange juice and a large bowl of cornflakes and switched on the kitchen TV.
He didn’t want to think about printing, books, magic, laws and most of all he didn’t want to think about stravagating. But his peace was soon disrupted. The doorbell rang and feet thumped down the staircase. He heard Harry’s voice and soon his brother’s tousled head poked round the kitchen door.
‘Oh, you’re up,’ he said. ‘There’s people to see you.’
Matt groaned softly. ‘Where are Mum and Dad?’ he asked, wrapping his dressing gown tighter round him.
‘Sainsbury’s,’ said Harry and disappeared.
Matt found Georgia and Nick standing sheepishly in the hall and waved them into the kitchen.
‘I’ve only just woken up,’ he complained. ‘And I can’t think till I’ve had some coffee. Do you want some?’
Georgia was sympathetic. ‘You must be exhausted,’ she said. ‘I remember what it was like. Shall I make it?’
She busied herself with filter papers and cups while Matt finished his cereal. He looked longingly at the toaster but didn’t really want to make any breakfast for the others.
‘So,’ said Georgia. ‘How’s it been going?’
‘OK,’ said Matt. ‘I’ve met this new character.’
He hadn’t really liked Ludo but he felt a sudden urge to know more about something or someone in Talia than these two did.
‘He’s a what-d’you-call-it . . . Manoush.’
‘Ah,’ said Georgia, as if she already knew about him. ‘Was it Aurelio, the blind one?’
‘No,’ said Matt. ‘It was a new one, one Luciano didn’t know.’
At the mention of Luciano, he saw Nick’s eyes swivel to Georgia with a look he couldn’t interpret. But she had her back to them, filling the coffee machine with water and didn’t notice.
‘He’s called Ludo something but he mentioned Aurelio,’ said Matt.
‘They’re wonderful, the Manoush, aren’t they, Nick?’ said Georgia, looking nostalgic. ‘So dark and mysterious.’
‘This one wasn’t dark,’ said Matt. ‘He was practically ginger.’
‘Then he can’t have been Manoush,’ said Nick. It was the first remark he’d made since arriving and Matt suddenly felt really hacked off about the way these two treated him.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m the one who met him and your precious Luciano TOLD me he was. And HE told me all about them. They seem to be some sort of Travellers or Gypsies. Ludo had to rush off and warn his mates about the laws against magic. Luciano seemed to think they’d get into trouble for worshipping the goddess or something.’
Nick had stood up, his fists clenched, but when Matt said that the Manoush were in danger, he slumped back in his chair. When he had been Falco, he had loved the Zinti, as most Talians called them, and their music had been what led him to Luciano, Georgia and his new life in this world. Now he just felt helpless and frustrated that, if they were in danger, there was nothing he could do to save them.
‘Do you want me to kill him?’ asked Filippo matter-of-factly.
It did Fabrizio good to hear him offer so willingly but he replied, ‘No. At least, not straight away. If my plan works, his blood won’t be on di Chimici hands. What I want is for you to find out what you can about the Stravaganti and what it is that they can do. It might even mean befriending him.’
Filippo frowned. He would rather use force than subterfuge; it seemed more manly. But Fabrizio was his friend as well as his relation and, since Niccolò’s death, the head of the family.
‘If that is what you wish, cousin,’ he said.
‘I do. And if you can gain his confidence and trick him into performing any of their ungodly acts in front of you, then we can just hand him over to the Padavian authorities. Antonio might not have been willing to yield him to me but, if he’s proved to have broken the new laws, he’ll have to have him executed.’
Chapter 10
The People of the Goddess
The Manoush had gone underground. As soon as Ludo had brought them Luciano’s news, the group had dispersed over the city, pulling long dark cloaks from their bags to cover their bright clothes and putting away their musical instruments. They pulled the ribbons out of their hair as they walked and wound it into tight buns or neat pony-tails. The transformation was almost magical in itself.
Most Manoush had friends in cities among the ‘permanenti’, as they called people who were not wanderers like themselves. It was not long before Ludo was knocking at the door of Messer Antonio’s house near the main square. Fortunately for him, Antonio was not at home. It was Giunta, the Governor’s wife, who was friend to the Manoush, and she opened the door herself.
In the past she would have welcomed him openly, entertaining as many of his friends as she could fit round her table. But since her husband’s new laws – much as she disapproved of them – Giunta could not afford to be seen socialising with worshippers of the goddess.
As soon as she saw Ludo’s unaccustomed sober clothes and his red-brown hair tied neatly back with a black ribbon, she realised he must know of the new danger.
‘Come in, come in,’ she welcomed him hastily. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘Just me this time,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘We thought it would be easier to ask shelter with friends singly.’
Of course, both he and Giunta knew that shelter was the last thing he wanted. The Manoush always spent their nights under the stars, spreading their bedrolls in courtyards or fields, in most weathers, taking cover under trees or overhanging walls only in the worst of storms.
But in this new situation they would welcome hospitality and a place to hide if the authorities came after them. To do it in the house of the man who had published the very laws he would be breaking was typical of Ludo.
‘Can you help me?’ he asked Giunta. ‘It will be dangerous.’
Her only answer was a contemptuous snort, which he rightly took to mean that her husband’s laws were no concern of hers. She led him to a part of the house which was as much her domain as the study was Antonio’s.
Beyond the kitchen and scullery, Giunta had a laundry room, which was the latest in sixteenth-century technology. A wood fire was always laid in readiness under a copper boiler and cupboards held clean linen for the household. Bunches of dried lavender hung from the low rafters and Ludo had to duck to avoid them. Outside was a little yard with a private well in the middle. The yard was strung with washing lines and held a wood-store, a chopping block and axe and a pile of logs.
Ludo’s eyes lit up when he saw the wood.
‘I could chop logs for you, Signora Giunta,’ he said, taking off his dark cloak and hanging it over a line.
Giunta nodded. She pointed to a small wooden door that opened out of the yard into an alley.
‘Come and go by this way,’ she said. ‘I will give you a key. You can sleep out here and take your meals in the laundry. You’ll be quite safe. Only my laundry maid and myself come here and she won’t give you away. She follows the Lady.’ She paused and looked him shrewdly up and down. ‘Only no trifling with her affections – Maria is a useful girl and I don’t want to lose her.’
Ludo opened his eyes wide and pointed at his heart as if to say ‘Would I?’, but Giunta was not convinced. So good-looking a man, who never stayed long in one place, was bound to acquire a reputation and he was not as high-minded as his cousin Aurelio.
He took her hand and brushed it with his lips. ‘You know you are the only woman for me, Signora,’ he said.
*
The youngest stable boy in the Ducal Palace of Bellezza had the job of exercising Arianna’s African spotted cats. His name was Mariotto and he loved the cats as if they were his own. Each day they had leather leashes fixed to their silver collars and walked sedately with him across the Piazzetta, to the amazement of all the citizens and the few tourists who were up early enough to see them.
Once away from the populous centre of the city and out in some of the swampy land that had not been built on, he let them run loose and stretch their long muscular legs for as long as they liked. There was little to hunt in the marshes, except a few waterfowl, and after about an hour, they would come back to him sniffing the canvas sack he had brought with him.
Then they would lie at his feet, gnawing on the hares or small wild pigs he had bought from a hunter, while Mariotto sat on a tussock of grass eating bread and cheese and feeling utterly content with his life.
After they had all slept in the sun for a bit, he would put their leashes back on and begin the slow walk home. Apart from another short walk in the evenings, with just a bone or two to gnaw on, this was their main exercise of the day.
Imagine his surprise when early one morning the masked Duchessa herself turned up at the stables at dawn, just as he was getting the cats ready. They heard her first and turned their elegant heads towards the sound.
‘Florio, Lauro,’ she cooed and they loped over to her, burying their muzzles in her hands. She had brought them tidbits of food from her own table.
‘You shouldn’t feed them till they’ve had their run,’ said Mariotto disapprovingly. He also disapproved of their names since ‘Florio’ was clearly a female, but the Duchessa had named them after a couple of male saints; he had no idea why.
Arianna was amused. She had become accustomed to the deference of servants over the two years since she had become Duchessa and it was refreshing to find one – even a rather small and grubby one – who was not overawed by her.
‘You are quite right, Mariotto,’ she said. ‘We don’t want them to get fat and lazy, do we? I’ll help you make them run, though’