Arianna was putting an elegantly gloved hand into a black velvet bag. She drew out a red and purple ball – ‘Archer,’ she said in a clear voice, but the Starter repeated it through his trumpet and ‘A-a-rr-cherrrr!’ echoed round the enclosed Campo. Topolino moved Alba towards the first place.
The Archer’s ball was put in number one position in something that looked like a cross between a branched menorah and a row of glass eggcups. The Duchessa selected the next ball and ‘Rrramm!’ was resounding while Georgia was still trying to believe that the red and yellow had been chosen next. She was second from the inner barrier – an excellent position! And she had her ally on her inside.
But the blue and pink colours of the Fishes came next and Georgia found herself wedged between her greatest ally and her greatest foe. Worse still was to come as the pink and white ball was placed in the fourth holder; the Twins would be right next to the Fishes, waiting to gang up on her and give her a bad start.
Some of the crowd began to groan as the lower positions were used up and they realised that their Twelfth would be near the outside barrier. The Lady was drawn last – number twelve, the Rincorsa. This last horse would be the one to start the race, entering the ropes at a gallop and setting all the others off, if the Starter thought it was a valid start and no one had been out of place. They had all had the same rules for the heats but no one cared too much about keeping to them. The real race was much more serious.
The glass cups were all full now and the spectral Duke was leading the Duchessa back to the dignitaries’ stand outside the Papal palace. Horses were all milling around at the start; there were no starting boxes and several mounts were facing the wrong way, including Arcangelo. Georgia watched the two Ducal figures, so different, walk the few yards back to the Twins and scanned the VIP stand. She couldn’t see Luciano there.
But there was no time to worry about it. After two false starts the race was suddenly under way and Georgia had no time to worry about anything except the rain of blows on her helmet from Il Re. Topolino put on a spurt to get out of her way so that she could ride on the inner rail behind him, but Silk pushed Benvenuto into her path and blocked her.
She had had a disastrous start but at least the Fishes and the Twins were now leaving her alone. They thought they had done a good enough job of keeping her out of the race and were now concentrating on their own runs. Georgia was furious but she was still riding and Arcangelo was a fast horse.
She pulled up on the others and as they finished the first lap, she was lying sixth, with a knot of other horses and jockeys. Somewhere in her brain she knew that she had passed Paolo and the others in the southernmost stand. She had completed one whole sunwise circuit of the Campo, racing past every sign of the zodiac. Dukes and Princes, butchers and bakers were all one blur to her. Georgia was unaware of everything and everyone except her horse and her fellow-riders.
They were galloping flat out on the second circuit when one single voice pierced through the shouting of the crowd. ‘The zhou volou!’ it cried. ‘The Ram’s luck returns!’
Georgia knew the voice was Aurelio’s at the same moment that she heard wings. Jockeys wavered and slowed just fractionally and Arcangelo was lying third, behind the Water-carrier and the Twins, as they all swept past the start line again and started on the last circuit.
‘Don’t look up,’ Georgia muttered, gritting her teeth as she heard the crowd cry out with a single voice.
Something pink and white fluttered past her eyes and still she didn’t slacken or waver. She drew abreast of Salsiccio on Uccello and felt him falter beside her; she caught a glimpse of his huge frightened eyes, cast up to the heavens.
‘Don’t ... Look ... Up,’ she panted, nearly level with Silk on Benvenuto. The Twins’ jockey raised his whip again but it fell uselessly to the ground as Georgia just had time to see him make the hand of fortune and turn white.
She raced past him, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the goal of the little black and white flag that marked the finishing line.
She passed it and, as she slowed the big chestnut, could not believe what she had done. She had won. Won for the Ram. But all was eerily silent. It was like being inside a freeze frame on a video. Everyone was looking up at the central column in the Campo. The Twins’ colours had been cast down and Cesare was waving to her from the back of Merla, who hovered patiently while he untied a very grubby-looking red and yellow scarf from his neck and fixed it to the pinnacle.
He leaned perilously over the side of the flying horse and yelled down to her, ‘Victory! Victory and rejoicing!’
And the whole Campo burst into life and the cheering began.
Chapter 23
The Ram on Fire
Luciano arrived panting in the Campo, having ridden Starlight all the way from Santa Fina. He got there long after Cesare on Merla to find all the stands empty and the remnants of the crowd still pouring out under the Twins’ stand to reach the cathedral. He tied Starlight to one of the iron rings in a road leading into the Piazza and hurried towards the Duomo himself.
‘Who won?’ he asked a passing Remoran, but the answer was lost in the noise coming from the black and white cathedral. Luciano fought his way in, and the sight that met his eyes told him all he needed to know. The interior was a blaze of red and yellow as Twelvers from the Ram waved flags and banners high in the air.
Up by the altar in the distance he could see the blue and silver of the Stellata standard and two figures both in the Ram’s colours, being carried on the shoulders of deliriously happy Montonaioli. The great nave of the cathedral echoed with cheers and chants; there was no chance of getting to Georgia and Paolo.
Smiling, Luciano left the cathedral and took Starlight back to her home in the Ram.
*
Arianna was back inside the Papal palace and at a loss what to do. There should have been a splendid banquet served at least nominally in her honour, but the palace was eerily quiet. Everything had gone wrong for the di Chimici; they had been expecting to celebrate a victory for the Twins or the Lady.
It was traditional after the Stellata that the winning Twelfth would hold another massive street party, dining under the stars and feasting the night away. But the other eleven Twelfths would be in darkness, all torches and candles extinguished as if in deep mourning.
Now the trestle tables in the square outside the Duomo with their pink and white tablecloths, which had already been set out in anticipation of a night’s feasting, were empty.
But the Pope was not going to give up on a feast; even if the Twelvers of the Twins had been cheated of their party, that was no reason to cancel the banquet inside the palace. Ferdinando di Chimici suddenly assumed responsibility as the second most senior member of the family. The Duke was virtually useless and, although Ferdinando could not replace him as a statesman or strategist, he knew what was owed to visiting nobles and it was up to him to save face for all the di Chimici and throw as magnificent a celebration as possible, even if there was nothing to celebrate.
*
The Duke had gone back to the hospital as soon as the race was over. He seemed scarcely to understand that Bellezza had won. But when Gaetano went to find his father, it seemed that the lagoon-city was still on his mind.
‘Father,’ said Gaetano gently. ‘Won’t you come back to the palace for the banquet? You need refreshment and I can stay with Falco.’
‘No,’ said Niccolò. ‘You must be there. The Duchessa likes you, I can tell. You must take advantage of her good mood to make your proposal tonight.’
Gaetano was horrified. He had been glad to set the courtship aside while Falco was so ill. Now it seemed that his hand would be forced.
‘But Father,’ he said. ‘It cannot be right to talk of marriage while Falco lingers here in this state.’
‘It will not be much longer,’ said Niccolò. ‘The physicians say he can’t last the night.’
A new grief gripped Gaetano. He would have to mourn his brother without sharin
g with any of his family the knowledge that would comfort him, the certainty that Falco would live and thrive in another world. And the doctors did seem right; Falco was little more than a shadow of his former self.*
Back in the Ram the torches blazed and the drums pounded. All the children were allowed to stay up late, though the Montalbani twins had fallen asleep under one of the tables. Teresa found them and scooped them up into their wooden crib and sat rocking it with her foot while the little girls ran round between tables waving their flags and crying ‘Wictry! Wejoything!’ to anyone who would listen.
Georgia was carried back to the Twelfth in triumph on the shoulders of two muscular men. Paolo was carried beside her. Arcangelo was accompanied by a crowd of excited Twelvers all desperate to pat and stroke him. Cesare led Merla, docile because she was happy to be going back home to the Ram and her mother. A small empty space surrounded her as Twelvers, overawed by her, thronged round but didn’t dare get near enough to touch. William Dethridge escorted Silvia, and the chief standard-bearer had relinquished his flag to his companion in order to carry the Stellata banner.
While the horses stood outside, the Rams took the banner and their victorious jockeys into the church, carrying both Georgia and Cesare up the stairs to the front door.
Whichever Twelfth won the race, their first thought was to give thanks to the Virgin, first in the great cathedral and then in their own special church.
Santa Trinità was full of waving flags and jubilant Twelvers. The priest who had given Georgia her helmet, and had blessed Arcangelo only a few hours ago, sprinkled holy water liberally over her now and over any Ram within reach. There was a carnival atmosphere in the building, normally so quiet and solemn. For a Twelfth who had won the Stellata after a drought of twenty-five years, all rules were suspended.
Georgia’s feet literally had not touched the ground since she had mounted Arcangelo in the Cortile of the Papal palace an hour ago. After the race she had been practically pulled off her horse by the enthusiastic embraces of her fellow Rams and had to struggle not to let them tear her jockey’s tunic off. Now her supporters let her down on the church steps and she fell into Cesare’s arms.
‘What a night!’ he said. ‘What a victory!’
‘Only because of your diversion,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have won without you and Merla. I’m sorry it wasn’t you on Arcangelo.’
‘Really?’
‘No, not really!’ said Georgia, smiling broadly.
Another horse came into the square and Merla whinnied a greeting to it. Luciano was leading Starlight up to the others at the foot of the steps. He leapt off her back and threw the reins to a willing Twelver. Rumour had soon got around that this grey was the mother of the miraculous flying horse.
‘Luciano!’ gasped Georgia. ‘You can ride!’
‘He’s a real horseman now,’ laughed Cesare. ‘Rode all the way to Santa Fina on one horse and all the way back on another. He even had a couple of flights on Merla!’
‘Lucky devil!’ said Georgia, looking longingly at the winged horse.
And then Luciano had reached them and grabbed her in his arms and she forgot all about flying.
‘Georgia, you did it!’ he said and planted a kiss on her lips.
She felt herself turning hot and cold. Never before tonight had she been so embraced and caressed, but this was different. This was Luciano. She kissed him right back and felt him react in surprise. So she tore herself away and kissed Cesare too, so that Luciano wouldn’t feel singled out. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him relax, even as she registered Cesare’s warm response.
*
Rodolfo had his mirrors trained on many different places: one on Bellezza in the Duchessa’s palazzo; one on the hospital where Falco lay still and silent; and one on the Ram, because he knew Silvia was there. He could make her out in the crowd outside the big church, even though all the figures were so tiny. And then he saw Luciano kissing the Ram’s jockey, for just a fraction longer than was consistent with congratulations on the victory.
He sighed; another complication.
*
Georgia could see she wasn’t going to get away from the Ram again that night. Even more than yesterday, she was the star of the show. Twelvers of both sexes kept coming up to congratulate and kiss her; some of the young female Rams, who really were remarkably pretty, looked as if they would like to stay and get to know the winning jockey better, but Paolo and Cesare protected Georgia from them.
What on earth were Maura and Ralph going to think if she didn’t get back that night? Her note had said that she was going to spend all day with Falco and the night too at the Mulhollands’. That had taken care of last night and today in Remora. But the sky was dark here now, which meant that it was day in the other world and, since it would be a Saturday, everyone would be home and wondering where Georgia had got to.
It was only a matter of time before Maura rang Vicky and then she would discover that the Mulhollands had no idea where she was. The fact that she actually was at their house was no help. If they found her in Falco’s room in her apparently comatose state, they would rush her off to hospital like Luciano a year ago. And she dreaded to think what that would do to Vicky and David.
But after a few goblets of wine, Georgia decided she was just not going to worry about it; Falco would have to cover up for her somehow. And she was not going to miss a second of her night of celebration. She couldn’t have forced herself to sleep even if she had been able to sneak away from the party.
*
Gaetano sat beside his uncle at dinner. For once he was not next to Arianna, although she filled his thoughts. The Duchessa was on the Pope’s other side, next to her father. Fabrizio and Carlo were next to them, arguing under their breath about who should make the speech after the banquet – Fabrizio as son and heir to the Dukedom of Giglia, or Carlo as next Prince of Remora.
Beatrice came and sat opposite Gaetano.
‘How is everything at the hospital?’ he asked anxiously.
She shook her head in answer.
‘You haven’t left Father on his own, have you?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said wearily. ‘Francesca has relieved me there. She said I needed a break.’
The Pope caught the name. ‘Ah, Francesca,’ he said. ‘She’s a good girl, isn’t she? Always so concerned for the family. I’m glad I granted her that annulment. She deserves a better fate than an impotent old husband.’
Gaetano choked on his pheasant. Francesca was free to re-marry! And within hours he must ask Arianna to be his wife.
Back in London, Falco was on tenterhooks. He was missing Talia and his father and Gaetano so badly and it was agonising not to know what was happening to Georgia in the Stellata. And he had to cover up for her too. She was still sleeping in his room and he wanted to be with her all the time, in case she suddenly returned to her body, as she had last night. But Vicky would have been alerted to something strange going on if he stayed closeted in his room. Every time the phone rang he hurried to be first to answer it but his leg made him slow and Vicky sometimes beat him to it.
Another thing was bothering him. He had stravagated twelve days ago and was still without a shadow. That meant he was still alive in Remora and as long as he was, there would be a temptation to ask Georgia for her ring and see if he could return to his Talian body. He didn’t know if she had destroyed the talisman or not. Falco longed for it to be over so that he could concentrate on his new life and on getting better.
The phone rang. Vicky was only yards from it.
‘Georgia? No, she’s not here, I’m afraid. Last night? No, she wasn’t here last night. Wait a minute – I’ll ask Nicholas.’
‘Yt was juste as mye readinge sayed it wolde bee,’ a rather inebriated Doctor Dethridge was trying to explain to Georgia. ‘Al the numbire cardes were twos – the numbire assigned to ye in the race. Aye, ye were there – Princesse of the Birdes.’
‘Princess of Birds?’ asked Georgia, p
uzzled.
‘Yonge mayde,’ said Dethridge patiently. ‘Princesse. And of birdes by cause thatte this place is of the aire – home to the flying horse and Citie of the Starres.’
‘OK, if you say so,’ said Georgia. ‘What else did your cards tell you?’
‘That the Dutchesse – Arianne is Princesse of Fishes – was wel protected by Lucian when shee came to the celebratioune of the Moving Starres.’
‘I don’t see what he did to protect her,’ said Georgia.
‘And that the Knyghte – yonge Caesar – was to be shutte up in a towre,’ Dethridge continued unconcerned. ‘And on the other side of ye the Prince of Serpentes – thatte is one of the yonge lordes of the Ladye, but whether it bee poore Falcon or Prince Cayton, I doe notte knowe.’
‘How do you work that one out?’ asked Georgia, uncomfortable at the thought that the Elizabethan had already predicted her intervention in Falco’s life.
‘The Ladye is an Erthe sygne,’ said Dethridge. ‘Juste as the Ram bilonges to Fyre and the Twins to Aire,’ as if that explained it all.
Perhaps you should do another reading, thought Georgia. She had no idea how the tangle of herself and Luciano, Arianna and Gaetano and even Falco and Cesare, might be unravelled and made to lie smooth.
A fanfare of silver trumpets announced the arrival of a visitor. Unlike the night before, the Duchessa of Bellezza could now travel openly to visit and congratulate her city’s Twelfth. Arianna swept into the Ram holding her head high. She wore a scarlet cloak over a yellow silk dress and a mask made of red and yellow feathers. Followed by Rodolfo and Gaetano, she walked the length of the steep Via di Montone to a standing ovation and made her way to the high table.
Paolo fetched chairs for the new visitors but Arianna did not sit down until she had been to stroke the horses. It was traditional for the winning horse to be guest of honour at the victory banquet, but the Ram had gone further and Merla was there alongside Arcangelo. And where Merla was, Starlight had to be too. The three horses had their own hastily fenced off space in front of the church, with the silk Stellata lashed to a tall pole behind it, and throughout the evening Twelvers and visitors went to marvel at the ‘Sorte di Montone’, luck of the Ram.