Stravaganza: City Of Stars Part 25

It took her a moment but she got him his hot dog, surprised that he knew what they were. Vicky was always unsure about Nicholas. Sometimes she thought he was only pretending to have lost his memory but at other times it seemed there were things that genuinely puzzled him about life in London. That was when she thought that Maura O'Grady's theory about asylum-seekers might be right.

Falco licked his lips and fingers and sighed with pleasure. There was so much nice food in his new world and you could get it so quickly.

The Manoush were always up before the dawn but on the Day of the G.o.ddess they had not lain down to sleep at all. They had spent the night in the Campo delle Stelle with Grazia, their old friend from the Lioness, and when the full moon rose were standing silent, facing eastward. Other groups of brightly dressed people stood with them.

As the moon appeared, all the Manoush began to sing. Aurelio was not the only musician among them; harps and flutes and small drums all joined in the hymns of praise to the G.o.ddess which lasted throughout the night.

The one or two Remorans who were up and awake at dawn saw the Manoush raising their arms to the rising sun and heard them chanting their high wailing song about the G.o.ddess and her consort. So begins the Stellata every year, with an older, hidden ritual, known to few citizens but underlying everything that happens for the rest of the day.

Georgia had slept little more than the Manoush and was relieved to see the lightening sky. For this, her official night away in Remora, she had been given a room of her own in Paolo's house.

'Too dangerous to sleep in your hayloft,' said Paolo. 'We don't want another jockey kidnapped.'

After a late night at the street party and an hour or two's dozing, Georgia woke to the sounds of a home with small children and several visitors. But this day she did not join the cheerful breakfast chaos. She had to go to Ma.s.s in the Duomo with the other eleven jockeys and go fasting.

Georgia was not used to such early rising or to doing anything without breakfast. And she was not used to going to church. The imposing Duomo, with its black and white marble stripes and its clouds of incense, made her feel overwhelmed in great contrast to her lionising of the night before. To make things worse, although there was a crowd of supporters for all the Twelfths outside the Duomo, only the dozen jockeys attended the service itself.

Georgia watched closely what the others did and followed suit. She heard Salsiccio's stomach rumble loudly and smiled to think that there was someone hungrier than her. But for the most part the short service was solemn. Georgia looked closely at the Pope, who celebrated the Ma.s.s. She had been in his palace several times, but never actually seen Falco and Gaetano's uncle. He was very different from the Duke, soft and corpulent but not unkind looking. So this was the fate that Falco had been willing to face death to avoid.

She stumbled out of the cool interior of the great church into the early morning sun. She thought she heard the faint sound of a harp in the distance. But then the bells of the Duomo started ringing and the crowd of supporters was applauding. The day of the Stellata had truly arrived.

In the palace at Santa Fina, the guard was worried. The boy captive was curled into a ball in the corner. He had not eaten any of the food he had been brought for nearly two days. He was obviously sick and there was no one to advise the guard what to do. Enrico had gone down into the city and would not be back till the afternoon.

Cesare tensed every muscle in his body and when the guard came over to shake him awake, he was up and out through his legs and down the first flight of stairs before he could react. Cesare ran down flight after flight, blindly, the way a wild animal will run from a trap, not knowing where he was going but using all his energy just to get away.

After several days without exercise and the last two without food, he was weak and dizzy, but he had the advantage of surprise, and his light build which made him such a good jockey gave him the edge on his stocky pursuer.

He seemed to be in a huge palace, even though the stairs he was running down were not the main ones. Cesare guessed he was in the servants' quarters. And when at last he reached the bottom and found the way out, he knew where he was. He was at the back of the Casa di Chimici in Santa Fina.

He ran through the gardens at top speed and didn't stop until he found himself in the cover of the woods. He was scratched and panting and parched with thirst. But he was free.

The heat on the morning of the Stellata was the merest formality for most jockeys. But not for Georgia. It was another chance for her to ride Arcangelo round that treacherous track and she was going to give it a good shot. And as a result she came third. The Lioness won on La Primavera and their jockey got his nickname at the last minute. 'Tesoro' his Twelvers called him, 'treasure', with much kissing and hugging, because he had come first, even though this heat mattered less than all the others.

'Well done!' Luciano said to Georgia and she glowed under his approval.

And then the jockeys had to give their names into the mayor and register for the race. 'Giorgio Gredi' was enrolled along with the eleven others. There was no backing out now.

She was too nervous to eat much lunch; the afternoon's ordeals were approaching and all Georgia wanted to do was get through them without disgracing the Ram. It was a heavy responsibility.

Soon after lunch she was taken to see Arcangelo in the 'Horse's House'. He was refreshed after his morning ride and now recognised her when she entered his stall. 'OK, boy?' she whispered, into his rusty mane. 'Let's give it a good try.'

The first task of the afternoon was to go to the church of Santa Trinita for the Blessing. All the members of the Twelfth, wearing sashes of red and yellow, were crowded into the little oratory at the side but the crowd parted as the horse was led in. Georgia walked beside him along the red carpet to the altar. The carpet dulled the sound of his hooves and yet it was a strange sound to hear in a place of worship. The crowd of Rams was silent and the atmosphere tense; no one must startle the horse.

The priest intoned the ritual blessing of horse and jockey. She felt his hand rest briefly on her head. And then he turned to the horse.

'Arcangelo go and return a winner!'

The Rams waited until the horse was safely out in the sunlight. And then the church filled with voices raised in song.

Chapter 22.

Star Riders Duke Niccol was roused by the sound of drums outside. Like everyone in Remora, he had lived with that sound for weeks, but this was different. It was right under the hospital window and it triggered a response in the Duke's clouded brain. Falco had always loved the sbandierata the displays of multi-coloured flags, creating elaborate patterns, being waved and tossed by the skilful ensigns of each Twelfth. It had been a treat for him to see it in Remora every year of his short life until his accident.

The Duke realised that it must be the afternoon of the Stellata, when all the Twelfths came and performed their 'sbandierata' in honour of the Pope, his brother. The day that Falco had been going to enjoy again for the first time in two years. Niccol walked slowly to the window and looked down into the square. It was a riot of colour and noise. The numbers of Twelvers and tourists crowding round to see the flag displays had overwhelmed the well-wishers praying outside the hospital for Falco's recovery.

'Life goes on,' whispered the Duke bitterly. He of all people knew how Remorans felt about their annual race; after all, he had been plotting to exploit their credulity and superst.i.tion himself this year. It seemed to be a plan made by another person a long time ago.

He went over to the bed and lifted his son, now so light that it was no effort at all, and carried him to the open window.

'See, Falco,' he said. 'See the pretty flags?'

Cesare felt he had been walking for hours. He had recognised the palace at Santa Fina where he had been held prisoner and he knew how far that was from the city but he had never been in these woods before and had lost all sense of direction. The woods were silent, the ground underneath his feet already thick with dry leaves, even though it was only August. The bushes were covered in this year's withered catkins and the trees towered above him, forming a continuous green arch above the path.

But was it the right path? He couldn't see the direction of the sun clearly through the foliage but it seemed to be overhead. He hoped he was still heading south. He was tired and hungry and very thirsty; the burst of energy that had got him through his escape had all evaporated now.

Now all Cesare could think of was that this must be the day of the race and the Ram had no jockey. He plodded on determinedly, even though he knew that, whether or not he got to Remora in time, there was no way that he would be fit enough to ride.

Georgia had been moved by the ceremony of blessing the horse. Remorans were a funny lot, she thought. So superst.i.tious and almost pagan in their talk of the G.o.ddess and yet the atmosphere in that Christian oratory had been electric, everyone willing the priest's final words to come true.

Paolo encouraged her to rest after the Blessing, though at first she was too wired to stay lying down. This was her only opportunity to see the great day in all its ritual splendour and she didn't want to miss a second of it. But she thought that she should try to stravagate back briefly and check on her arrangements in London and eventually managed to fall into a doze, clutching the winged horse that was her pa.s.sport home.

Falco was startled when Georgia suddenly sat up and reached for his hand. Not that he had been asleep. It had been so wonderful to lie awake and gaze undisturbed at her by the light of the moon coming through his open curtains. Now it shone on her eyes as she gazed back at him.

'Is anything wrong?' he whispered. 'What is happening in Remora?'

She shook her head. 'Nothing is wrong. I'm supposed to be resting before the race. It's all so fantastic the flags and the clothes and the horses. This morning I came third in the heat and then I went to Arcangelo's Blessing and . . .' Words failed her. 'But I had to come back and check on things here. And to check that I still can,' she added even more quietly.

'Everything's fine here,' said Falco. 'Only I wish I could be with you at the race.'

Georgia squeezed his hand. 'This is the hardest part for you, I know,' she said. 'Just hold on and I'll tell you all about it when I get back. Only I must go now.' She lay back down and concentrated her mind on her room in Paolo's house.

Soon her regular breathing told Falco that she had fallen asleep and it was all right to resume his vigil. It was many hours before he closed his eyes; in his mind he was living every moment of the big day of the race he would never see again.

Georgia stood on the steps outside the big church and watched the ensigns execute their formal flourishes, making patterns with the red and yellow flags. Like all the other Rams, she gasped when the ensigns tossed the flags with their heavy flagpoles up high above the crowd and caught each other's standard as they fell after crossing in mid-air.

'The alzata,' said a voice behind her, and she turned to see Paolo, splendidly dressed in his parade clothes. As Capitano, he would walk with the ensigns and the drummer in the Ram's section of the parade, just like every other captain of one of the Twelfths. He was talking to a tall grey-haired man who Georgia gathered from the talk around her was head of the silversmiths' guild.

They were all lining up now, in their red and yellow velvet, with brocade cloaks and elaborate hats with rolled brims and curling feathers. Paolo had silver spurs and a sword too. Later they would be joined by the float carrying a tableau of Rams and by a Twelver leading Arcangelo. Georgia herself would have to join in the great procession, wearing her metal helmet and riding the subst.i.tute parade horse; Arcangelo mustn't waste an ounce of his energy by carrying her around the Campo before the race. But now the walking members of the party were moving off to join the other Twelfths already performing the sbandierata in the square behind the Papal palace.

Of Luciano there was no sign, though Georgia glimpsed Dethridge through the crowd with a woman dressed in red velvet with a yellow silk cloak who must have been Silvia.

Enrico was in the Piazza di Gemelli watching the flag displays. He thought he caught sight of the Duke's face at one of the hospital windows. He seemed to be holding something like a doll or statue. Then Enrico realised with a shock that it was the unconscious body of the young di Chimici prince.

Quite mad, he thought to himself. Was it going to matter to the Duke who won the race now? Perhaps he should lay out a bit more of the money both Duke and Pope had given him and make a last-minute extra pact with the Twins' jockey, Silk? His sharp eyes sought him out now, locating the pink and white colours among the ever-changing palette of Twelvers wearing their sashes and scarves.

The Pope led the d.u.c.h.essa to her place between Rodolfo and Gaetano on the Twins' stand outside the Papal palace. Fabrizio di Chimici was there already Carlo was representing the Giglian family in the Lady but there were several empty places, including those of the other Bellezzan visitors. But the most conspicuous gap was where the Duke should be. Whispers exchanged between his sons made it clear that no one knew if he would turn out in time for the race.

It was a hot and sunny afternoon and Barbara stood behind the d.u.c.h.essa with a white lace parasol. Arianna was dressed in pure white silk with a mask trimmed with white peac.o.c.k feathers. It was a tactful choice, not clashing with the rose and white colours of the Twins around her and not espousing any one Twelfth. Only Arianna and her maid knew that she wore garters of brightest red and yellow under the wide silk skirt.

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 amba.s.sador 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 pa.s.s 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 ma.s.sive 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 circ.u.mference 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 mache lioness standing on a bed of pink and white paper roses. Teresa looked on appreciatively, thinking 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 G.o.ddess 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.