The di Chimici brothers wore the purple and green of the Lady and would have been happier across the Campo in their own stand. But as with the dinners before the race they had to stand in for their father and uphold the family honour with their Bellezzan guests. The diplomatic consequences of Falco’s illness had been far reaching and neither of the brothers knew what the outcome would be. They were in uncharted waters and only their upbringing kept them afloat.
The atmosphere was tense and even Rodolfo, in his usual black velvet, unadorned by any colour, seemed nervous.
‘What is it?’ Arianna whispered to him. ‘Where is he?’
‘There is something wrong,’ he replied quietly. ‘I wish Georgia were not riding in this race. She should be bringing the boy back. And I’m still worried about Cesare.’
‘What about Luciano?’ asked Arianna. ‘Where is he?’
Rodolfo sighed. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Things are not right there either. He is unhappier than I have known him since his translation – and that is at least partly my fault.’
‘Here is Doctor Dethridge now,’ said Arianna, and the Elizabethan took his place in the Twins’ stand with much bowing and hand-kissing. But he came alone.
*
Luciano was restless. He had hung about at the stables in the Ram while Georgia went to the Blessing. He had the strongest feeling that he was going to be in the wrong place today, wherever he was. He was reluctant to go to the Campo so early, even though he wanted to see the procession before the race. He didn’t want to be in the Twins’ stand though, where all the crowd would be looking at the di Chimici party, because once he was there, hemmed in by dignitaries, there would be no chance of escape.
Escape made him think about Cesare, almost certainly shut up somewhere till the race was over. The thought of his friend’s confinement sent him pacing up and down the cobbled stable-yard, remembering his own capture and imprisonment a year ago. Of course Cesare wasn’t in the same danger that Luciano had been. The Talian boy would be released with no worse consequence than disappointment at missing this year’s race. Whereas Luciano’s life had changed for ever.
And yet, every hour that Cesare spent in captivity made Luciano suffer again what he had been through at the hands of the di Chimici ambassador and his spy in the blue cloak. It seemed more than likely that Cesare was in the hands of that same spy. And then something that Falco had said before he stravagated came back to Luciano. ‘I keep thinking there’s someone else in the palace,’ he had said. ‘Someone watching me.’
Luciano suddenly knew what he had to do. He ran to see if he could put horses into the carriage but all the grooms were down in the Piazza del Fuoco and he couldn’t manage it alone. Dondola was quietly munching hay in her stall and he knew how to saddle and bridle her. Clumsily he climbed up on her back from the mounting-block in the yard. They rode out northwards through the deserted streets of the Ram and only the grey cat saw them go.
*
The Ram began the procession, being the Twelfth whose astrological sign rose first in the year. The drummer started the beat of the march, which would be taken up by all the other Twelfths, and the ensigns lowered their flags and stepped through the arch under the judges’ stand and into the circular Campo.
They processed slowly round to the Lady’s stand, ready to perform their first ceremonial sbandierata. Georgia came to a halt on the parade horse. Because of the large float separating them she couldn’t see anything of the Ram’s display, apart from the alzata, when their flags leapt into the air and spiralled down to a great cheer from the crowd.
‘This is freaking me out,’ thought Georgia, looking at the crowd. The whole of the centre of the Campo was filled with Remorans, all wearing the colours of their Twelfths. She could see that some citizens, who must have been there since early morning to get the best view, were standing on the circular stone seat round the central fountain. The Twins’ colours still fluttered from the top of the column, inexplicable except as a good omen for the di Chimici.
Georgia glanced away from the crowd inside the track and into the Lioness’s stand, where her part of the Ram’s procession was halted. To her surprise, among the red and black sashes, she saw the multi-coloured clothing of the Manoush. Aurelio and Raffaella were sitting with an old woman of their tribe. Georgia smiled; she would have thought that watching the race in the comfort of a wooden stand would not have been in keeping with the austere Manoush way of life.
She caught Raffaella’s eye and felt a wave of recognition pass between them. And if she hadn’t had to walk her horse on at that moment, she might have realised that the recognition came as much from the blind musician as from his companion.
Arianna watched entranced from her place of honour. There was nothing like this spectacle in her water-riven city – except perhaps Carnival. Land-locked Remora and its horses seemed glamorous to her today. But Rodolfo was still restless beside her, not looking at the procession but scanning the sky and looking over his shoulder towards the hospital whose bulk lay unseen behind the Papal palace. After a while she noticed that he was holding half-hidden in his cloak a hand mirror. And she knew it was not from vanity.
*
Cesare was at the limit of his strength when he came to a fast-flowing river. Gratefully he scooped water into his cupped hands and drank till his thirst was quenched. He had nothing in which he could carry water but he splashed his face and hair and soaked his neckcloth to keep him cool on the rest of his journey. His next task was to cross the river and get back on to the path on the other side; he could see it snaking invitingly between the trees across the water.
There were several large uneven stones across the river which would serve as stepping stones, but testing the water with a branch showed Cesare that it was deep in the middle and he already knew how cold and fast it was. He stepped back out of the water and sat down to rest with his back against a tree for a while; Cesare did not know how to swim.
*
Luciano rode to Santa Fina, enjoying his sense of mastery over the horse, which grew with every yard. As long as he was on the Strada delle Stelle he trotted quite fast but as soon as he was through the Gate of the Sun and the road ran through the countryside, he urged Dondola into a canter. She was surprised and pleased at being exercised on this day when her stable had seemed so deserted and willingly carried him to Santa Fina at speed.
It was not long before the great palace loomed up before him. It was the first time he had approached it with a clear view; usually his carriage just took him in through the massive gate and into the courtyard. Now the gate was open and the palace servants seemed to be in as much disarray as when he had last been there, on the morning when Falco had been discovered with the poison bottle.
He was recognised by one of them when he jumped down from Dondola’s back.
‘Oh, Signore,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m supposed to keep this door guarded. Can you take your horse round to the stable yourself?’
‘Of course,’ said Luciano. ‘But what’s the problem?’
The man mumbled something, clearly not wanting to say. Luciano shrugged and led Dondola round to the stable block. It was quite deserted. He put her in a stall and gave her hay and water.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said to her. ‘I just want to search the palace. I’m sure that Cesare is here somewhere.’
And Merla, recognising his voice, or perhaps the name of the boy who had been with her the night she had entered the world, gave a long whinny from the back of the stable block.
*
Arianna felt Rodolfo suddenly tense beside her.
‘What is it?’ she hissed.
The procession had now twined the entire circumference of the circle. Georgia was opposite the Twins’ stand and the Twins’ own parade had reached the Ram’s stand, with a pair of boy twins playing on the float under a huge papier mâché lioness standing on a bed of pink and white paper roses. Teresa looked on appreciatively, thinkin
g of her own twin boys back in the Twelfth.
Rodolfo exchanged glances with Dethridge and they both signalled silently to Paolo, proudly walking alongside the stand. The triangle made by the thought-lines among them was almost visible.
The Fishes’ parade had just entered the Campo, followed by the last float carrying the Stellata itself, the banner covered with stars. On it was the figure of a woman in blue, but whether Christian Queen of Heaven or pagan goddess was not clear.
The crowd erupted at the sight of the banner, pulling off their coloured sashes and neckcloths and waving them at the painted silk standard. Under the cover of the renewed noise, Rodolfo showed Arianna what he could see in his mirror. A young man with long black curly hair, and wearing the red and yellow of the Ram, was clinging on to the back of a black horse. He looked like someone unused to riding. But as the image dwindled, Arianna saw that he sat the horse bareback – between a huge pair of black wings – and that the horse was soaring above tree-tops.
*
Cesare woke with a start. He could tell by the light that it was now late in the afternoon; shafts of green sunlight were slanting down between the trees. Hunger gnawed at his belly but he willed himself into the water and on to the precarious stepping-stones.
A third of the way across the river his courage gave way. The stones were slippery and even the bigger ones tilted as he moved his weight on to them. With every step he took he was in danger of tipping into the rushing water and being swept off his feet. There was a choice of stones and he didn’t know which ones were stable and which treacherous.
Cesare halted, unable to move forwards or back, unsure now which stones had been safe on his way across and feeling giddy. A black dragonfly came and hovered just in front of his face. Its two pairs of wings were glossy and caught the light. It reminded him of Merla. Concentrating on the shiny insect made him feel less faint. Then it flew ahead of him and settled on one of the honey-coloured stones.
Keeping his eye carefully on the dragonfly, Cesare moved one foot forward and set it on the stone. It held. The dragonfly flitted ahead and landed on another stone; it rested for a second, then flew back to Cesare before returning to the stone that lay ahead of him.
‘That’s the one is it, my beauty?’ said Cesare, and stepped forward. Stone by stone and step by painfully slow step, the dragonfly led him across the river. When he got to the other side and at last found that both feet were on dry ground, the insect flashed its jetty wings three times, then flew up into the trees.
‘Thank you!’ cried Cesare, looking up. And then he saw Merla herself flying slowly above the woods, with a rider on her back.
*
Luciano looked down through the treetops that rushed past sickeningly fast underneath him. He understood that Merla could go much faster, but she seemed to be looking for something and he was grateful for that. When he had decided to learn to ride, he had had nothing like this in mind. Even getting on to the winged horse had been an operation; Luciano had never ridden bareback and had always had someone to help him mount. Sitting precariously between Merla’s wings and clutching her mane, he had pressed his knees into her flanks and clicked his tongue.
The black horse had flowed into a canter, a gallop and then lifted smoothly up and mounted diagonally into the sky with just a few slow flaps of her strong wings. While Luciano closed his eyes and hoped for the best, she had brought them across these woods.
The woods appeared to stretch south of Santa Fina towards Remora and Merla seemed determined to head for the city.
They both heard the cry beneath them at the same time. Merla stopped beating her wings and hovered in the sky, treading air. Luciano peered fearfully over her shoulder through her thick black mane. There was a gap in the treetops like a parting through a thick head of hair. Luciano could see a thread of blue running through it and a figure beside it jumping up and down waving something red and yellow.
As the figure grew larger, he realised that Merla was looking for somewhere to land. Luciano closed his eyes and prayed to the goddess. The trees rushed past his head and he heard Merla’s wings swish as she folded them neatly over her back, wrapping him in a dark cloud of soft feathers. She lowered her neck so that he could slide down it.
Luciano could hardly stand, his legs were so wobbly. But then he heard a crashing noise and Cesare came running through the trees into the clearing that Merla had found.
The two boys clasped each other in an affectionate hug.
‘Cesare! I’m so glad I’ve found you!’
‘You found Merla!’
‘Only because I was looking for you!’
Cesare ran to the winged horse who was cropping the grass in an absurdly ordinary horsey way. He threw his arms round her neck and laid his face against her cheek. For a moment horse and boy just stood quietly breathing in each other’s scent.
Then Cesare turned to Luciano. ‘We must get to the Campo. It’s nearly time for the race.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Luciano. ‘Georgia’s going to ride Arcangelo.’
Cesare wrestled with conflicting emotions. He knew that the Ram would have had to scratch or hire another jockey. And he knew that another jockey would have been signed up by now and not be changeable. Georgia was at least used to riding bareback, and enough time had elapsed since his capture for her to forge a relationship with Arcangelo. But he was bitterly disappointed. The Stellata was run only once a year and he had been preparing for this one for a long time. Maybe he would be too tall or too heavy to be a jockey next year?
Cesare sighed. ‘Will she carry us both?’ he asked, still hanging on to Merla’s mane.
Luciano shook his head. ‘Perhaps for a short distance,’ he said. ‘But not all the way to the city. Still, I have a horse at the palace and it’s only a mile or two north of here.’
‘I’m not going back there,’ said Cesare. ‘That’s where I was held captive. It’s taken me days to escape.’
‘What about Roderigo’s place?’ said Luciano.
‘Brilliant!’ said Cesare. ‘That should be just west of here and Starlight is still there. Merla would love to go to her and one of us could ride her to Remora.’
‘That would be me,’ said Luciano, already feeling nervous about the short flight to the Santa Fina stables and quite ready to return to riding on solid ground.
Merla let them both climb up, Cesare giving Luciano a heave and then leaping lightly up in front of him. He leaned forward and whispered in Merla’s ear. She spread her great wings and moved forward in the clearing, getting up enough speed to lift off. It seemed touch and go whether she would be airborne before reaching the trees on the other side of the clearing, but slowly her powerful muscles and huge wingspan raised her from the ground. And then she was off, up and away, flying towards her mother.
*
There was a tight knot in Georgia’s stomach. The procession had wound its way round the Campo three times and the Stellata had been hung over the Judges’ stand. The ensigns of each Twelfth had executed a final spectacular alzata simultaneously in front of the Twins’ stand and had seen with satisfaction that the beautiful Duchessa of Bellezza had jumped to her feet and applauded them.
The jockeys had all changed horses in the Cortile of the Papal palace and were now seated on their proper mounts for the race. The Archer’s jockey, Topolino, touched his helmet in greeting to Georgia and she returned his salute. She didn’t like the look of the Fishes’ jockey, known as Il Re – the king. He was giving her some very unkingly looks and she remembered what he had been like in the heats.
The great bell of the palace suddenly stopped and only then did Georgia realise that it had been tolling all afternoon, ever since the Blessing ceremony. A hush fell in the Cortile.
Then a tall, dishevelled figure shambled in front of the horses. He barely looked at his own jockey, Cherubino, who leaned down to get some sort of blessing from the man.
‘Your Grace,’ whispered Cherubino, and the Duke stopped and stared
at him.
He raised an exhausted hand. ‘Victory and rejoicing,’ he said woodenly, remembering the formula, and continued his way out into the Campo.
*
Arianna’s heart was pounding. She knew that the race was a sham, rigged so that a di Chimici Twelfth would win. And she knew that the purpose of bringing her here to see it had been to put on a show of di Chimici power and if possible engineer a humiliating defeat for Bellezza’s Twelfth, the Ram.
But in a few minutes she would be escorted to the Judges’ stand to choose the order in which the horses would take their places. That could not be rigged; she would put her hand into a velvet bag and draw out wooden balls painted in the colours of each Twelfth. The order in which they came out was the order in which the horses would start, beginning from the inside of the track.
Arianna prayed now for a good placing for Georgia, somewhere near the beginning. The Duke was supposed to take her to the Judges’ stand but he hadn’t shown up and there was much whispering among his sons, which Arianna was trying to ignore. Then there was a sort of ripple in the stand and Niccolò di Chimici was there, looking like a phantom. He gave her a ghastly smile.
‘Time for the draw, your Grace,’ he said, and offered her his arm.
*
Georgia was handed a whip as she entered the Campo on Arcangelo; the jockeys came in through an arch under the Twins’ stand. The start-line was in the neutral zone that ran down from the Strada delle Stelle in the north; it was matched by another neutral area in the south, where all the people who had taken part in the procession were sitting in a stand reserved for them.
Georgia moved to the start-line, opposite the Judges’ stand, in a kind of dream. She could see the Starter with something that looked like a very big trumpet but was probably a sort of megaphone. The Duchessa of Bellezza stood at his side, looking like a long glass of iced water in the hot stuffy Campo. And beside her Georgia made out the Duke, looking in need of one. She hadn’t seen him for days and was shocked by his appearance.