City of Flowers (15 page)

‘Arianna?' asked Sky, surprised. He couldn't imagine Luciano making friends with anyone who had tried to hurt her.

‘No. Her mother, the last Duchessa. He works for her now – as a sort of bodyguard-cum-footman.'

Georgia had told Nicholas ages before about how the mysterious Silvia she had met in Remora was really the Duchessa whom the di Chimici's second assassin was supposed to have blown up in her own audience chamber, but Sky hadn't known she was still alive.

‘You can bet she'll turn up in Giglia too,' said Georgia. ‘Just look out for a glamorous middle-aged woman somewhere near Rodolfo. That'll be her.'

‘Who's a glamorous middle-aged woman?' asked Rosalind, putting her head round the door. ‘Not me, I'm guessing.'

‘No one you know,' said Sky quickly.

‘We must be going,' said Georgia. ‘Do you want to come and see Alice off at the station tomorrow?'

‘No,' said Sky, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I'll call her on her mobile.'

Sandro was waiting for Sky when he walked out of Sulien's cell the next morning in Giglia.

‘Come and see how the new Nucci palace is getting on,' he said straightaway. ‘If Brother Sulien can spare you.'

Sandro's scruffy dog, Fratello, was waiting outside, tied to a metal ring in the wall. He jumped up and barked with pleasure when he saw his master and included Sky in his welcome too.

‘What are those two wooden columns for, Sandro?' asked Sky. ‘I've often wondered.'

‘They're . . . ob-e-lisks,' said Sandro, trying hard to get the word right. ‘We use them for markers when there are carriage races round the piazza.'

‘Carriage races?' said Sky. ‘I'd like to see that.'

The two boys and the dog walked through the centre of the city in the bright spring sunshine. Sky had got used to the smell of rubbish in the gutters and the juxtaposition of rickety wooden houses and grand palaces. They both looked up at the dome of the great cathedral with equal affection. It was so huge that you could see it from almost every street in Giglia, but the massive bulk of it was still always a shock up close.

They dipped down a side street off the square to pass through the Piazza Ducale, where there was quite a bustle round the Ducal palace. Workmen were carrying bundles of tapestries and pieces of furniture from carts in through the imposing front entrance.

‘The Duke's moving house,' said Sandro. ‘The next time he asks you to dinner, it will be here.'

‘Why is he moving?' asked Sky. Sandro shrugged.

‘Wants to live above the shop, with Prince Fabrizio, to keep a close eye on all the new laws being made. And he'll be able to keep an eye on the Nucci from here too – they'll be just across the river.'

They continued past the Guild offices and jewellery workshops, across the Ponte Nuovo. Sandro paused in the middle of it, letting Fratello sniff round the butchers' shops and fishmongers that lined both sides. The smell of blood was awful. Sky went to stand in one of the curved balconies in the middle of the bridge, looking out over the river. The water level was very high. Sandro came and stood beside him,

‘The Argento will flood this spring,' he said knowingly.

‘What? Into the city?'

‘It happens often,' said Sandro. ‘Though usually in the autumn. This bridge used to wash away in the old days, when it was made of wood. That's why they built this new stone one.'

‘It doesn't look very new,' said Sky, looking at the grimy bricks and blood-stained cobbles and ramshackle food shops.

‘It's been here two hundred years or more,' said Sandro. ‘Stood up to floods all that time.'

They walked on to the street on the other side of the river, past one of the many small churches that punctuated the districts of Giglia. Within a few streets they were in sight of the surrounding countryside. Only the huge Nucci palace and its formal gardens separated the city from the fields around.

Sky was impressed. It was bigger and showier than either of the Duke's palaces. And, although it was built in a style he recognised as Renaissance architecture, it was so obviously modern and new that it suddenly made the grandeur of the di Chimici residences, with their frescoed chapels and trompe
l'oeil reception rooms, seem outdated and stuffy.

Here too workmen were busy moving in furniture and hangings.

‘Let's go into the gardens,' said Sandro.

‘Is it allowed?' asked Sky.

‘No one notices boys like me,' said Sandro. ‘Or friars.'

They walked past the grand front face of the palace, at the top of a natural slope, and on towards what would one day be a gated side entrance to the gardens. Here all was innovation – radiating avenues of freshly planted trees encircling small lakes with fountains and statues. And every now and then the boys would come across an elaborate grotto, surrounded by vines and creepers carved from stone and bursting with statues of gods and nymphs.

They walked the whole circuit, following the upward slope of the ground, until they were at the back of the great house. In one direction the cupola of Saint-Mary-of-the-Lily dominated the blue sky; in the other lay fields of jonquils and asphodel. The air was fresh and laden with the scents of flowers and the mature pine trees that lined the avenue behind the palace.

‘Wow!' said Sky.

‘They've done it this time,' said Sandro. ‘I don't think the Duke will let them hang on to it for long.'

*

The Duke was standing at the window of his new apartments at the top of the Ducal palace. It overlooked the river and from here he had a clear view of the newly risen Palazzo Nucci and its extensive gardens. Even from here he could see the bustle of activity that indicated the wool-merchant family were beginning to take possession of their new home. He was impressed and disgusted in equal measure but had no intention of showing the former emotion.

‘There they are, the sheep-farmers,' he sneered. ‘At least there'll be no shortage of mutton for their table. Their own grazing must start practically at the edge of their vulgar gardens.'

‘Indeed, my Lord,' said Enrico, joining the Duke at the window. ‘I hope it doesn't spoil your view.'

‘I like to see the ants building their nest,' said Niccolò. ‘But from here it feels as if I could tip a pan of boiling water over the whole colony. Just let them try anything else against my family and I will.'

‘Fabrizio is here, Father,' said Beatrice, coming into the room. ‘Shall I send for him to come up or do you want to take him to his rooms?'

‘I shall come down and escort him myself,' said Duke Niccolò. ‘This is a great day for the di Chimici family. We have moved to the centre of the city, where we belong. Let the Nucci play in their gardens, like the rustics and bumpkins they are. Politics are conducted in Council chambers, not in meadows.'

*

Sky lay in the as yet un-mown grass under the pines, breathing in the sharp and musky scent. Sandro and Fratello had flopped down beside him, glad of the shade in the warm mid-morning sun.

‘I saw the young prince fencing yesterday,' said Sandro conversationally.

‘Which one?' asked Sky, though he thought he knew.

‘The ugly one,' said Sandro.

‘Gaetano?'

‘Yeah,' said Sandro. ‘He's the best of them, I reckon. Though the kid wasn't bad either, the one that died.'

‘You knew Prince Falco?'

‘Not to say knew,' said Sandro. ‘Boys like me don't get on very close terms with princes. But he was all right. Fond of animals, especially his horses, till he had that accident. Complete wreck after that, of course.'

Sky wondered what Sandro would think if he could see Nicholas now.

‘Anyway, his brother, Gaetano, the one that was closest to Falco, was teaching a young nobleman to fence. Don't know what sort of noble he was, mind you, that came from a family where he needed to be taught – probably a foreigner – but he's picking it up all right.'

‘I expect that was Luciano, the Bellezzan,' said Sky cautiously. ‘I met him when Sulien and I went to the Duke's.'

‘Oh, Bellezza,' said Sandro, as if that accounted for it. ‘I've heard they don't even have horses there. No wonder their nobles need helping by Giglians. They must be quite uncivilised.'

Sky rolled over on to his stomach, away from the boy with the dirty face and ragged clothes, to hide his smile.

‘Shame, though,' said Sandro. ‘He was much better-looking than our prince, though I can't imagine a Bellezzan girl would have him if he needs so much polishing up, unless their girls are equally rough.'

‘That's what the Duke thinks,' said Sky. ‘He's planning to offer himself to the Bellezzan Duchessa, though I think she's far from rough. And I think she'd prefer Luciano.'

‘Do you?' said Sandro, sitting up. ‘That's very interesting.'

And Sky hoped he hadn't given too much away.

Chapter 13

Talismans

Lucia di Chimici was a redhead with fair skin, like her father Prince Jacopo, so she did not want to get married in pure white.

‘Next to you I would look like a corpse,' she told her sister Bianca, who was dark like their mother. ‘I shall wear gold.'

It was a bold choice for a Talian, because gold was a lesser valued metal than silver in their world and there was a danger of looking cheap. But there would be nothing cheap about Lucia's wedding dress. The gold taffeta would be oversewn with emeralds and she would wear her long dark red hair part loose and part plaited with gold and green ribbons.

She would look more dramatic than Bianca, whose choice was simple white satin rendered sumptuous by the addition of diamonds and pearls. Their father shuddered a little when he heard the cost, but he was proud of his girls' beauty and didn't take much persuading by his wife.

‘They will be the two most beautiful brides,' said Carolina. ‘And the honour of Fortezza is at stake.'

During the many fittings, the sisters had plenty of time to talk about their forthcoming marriages. At first they were too excited about the grandeur of the ceremony, with all its attendant celebrations and opportunities for fine gowns, to think of anything but the day itself. But as time went on, the seriousness of their lives' changes began to sink in. Neither girl had ever lived outside Fortezza and now they would both leave home together. Bianca would live in Volana with Alfonso, as his wife and his new Duchessa. And Lucia would be in Giglia with Carlo, living as she had been told with her cousins Gaetano and Francesca in the di Chimici palace on the Via Larga.

She had the advantage over Bianca, in that she and Carlo had always been fond of each other, from when the cousins were all small and played together in the summer palace at Santa Fina. At twenty-three, he was only one year older than her and they were well-matched. She wasn't exactly in love with him, but he was good-looking and clever and fitted the role of husband well enough to content her.

Bianca, at twenty, was seven years younger than her husband-to-be. The gap had seemed enormous during those long summers, when Alfonso and his skinny brother Rinaldo had been the two eldest, and she was still a bit in awe of him.

But he too was good-looking and had shown himself perfectly willing to marry her, which was an excellent recommendation. And she was glad Duke Niccolò's choice had hit on him and not on Rinaldo when picking out a husband for her, as Bianca would have had to obey, whatever his decision.

All that spring the two princesses talked about their future in the di Chimici dynasty, imagining the children they would have and the city-states they would rule over.

‘Duke Niccolò means Gaetano to have Fortezza when father dies,' said Lucia. ‘I'm sure that's why we're getting such well-titled husbands. So that they won't contest Fortezza for themselves.'

‘It is sad for Father to think on,' said Bianca. ‘His line dying out in his own city. I hope we have boys, don't you?'

‘I don't see why girls shouldn't inherit a title,' said Lucia. ‘Look at Bellezza, where they always have Duchesse.'

‘But they are elected,' said Bianca. ‘The title isn't inherited like the ones in our family.'

‘Still, this one's the daughter of the last one, isn't she?' said Lucia. ‘It comes to the same thing.'

There was no way that Rosalind could drive all the way from Islington to Devon, even though she was much better. It was doubtful that their car would have made it, anyway. The dented Fiesta had belonged to Rosalind's father. When he had died four years earlier, her mother had given it to Rosalind, but life in London was harder for the car than in a Devon village and it was now the worse for wear.

Laura was going to drive them all in her new Rover; conveniently, she was visiting her family too.

‘If I get frantic, tell me I can come and stay with you, darling,' she said to Rosalind as she drove very fast along the M4, window down and chain-smoking.

‘Of course,' said Rosalind, smiling round at Sky. ‘We wouldn't mind.'

He knew what she was thinking. Nana Meadows didn't approve of Laura and never had. ‘Fast' and ‘flighty' were her two favourite ways of describing her. Sky had once heard his mother stop his grandmother in her tracks by saying calmly, ‘It's funny that you're so rude about my best friend. Particularly when you consider that I'm the unmarried mother and she's the one with a respectable job and decent income.' Of course, she hadn't known Sky was listening.

Laura had baulked a bit at their luggage, especially when she saw Sky's box of foils. But nothing ever fazed her for long and she had cheerfully re-packed the boot, piling the extras in the back with Sky.

‘It's time you learned to drive,' she now shouted at him over her shoulder, sending clouds of smoke into the back of the car. ‘I'll start teaching you in Devon, if you've got your provisional.'

It so happened that Sky had. And he had passed his theory and his hazard tests. But that was as far as it had gone. His mother couldn't afford driving lessons and she hadn't been fit enough until recently to think of teaching him herself.

At the next service station, Laura bought another packet of cigarettes and a pair of big red Ls for Sky; she never let the grass grow under her feet. Rosalind was feeling well enough to drive the next bit and Sky sat in the front with her, while Laura stretched out in the back. She was instantly asleep, looking much younger curled up on bits of luggage and without a cigarette in her mouth.

‘What kind of a driving instructor do you think she'll make?' Sky asked his mother.

‘Interesting,' said Rosalind, and they both laughed. ‘Oh, I'm looking forward to this break,' she went on. ‘I feel as if I haven't breathed any proper air for years. I bet I wouldn't have been so ill if we hadn't lived in London.'

‘You don't want to move back to Devon, do you?' asked Sky, surprised.

Rosalind shook her head. ‘No way,' she said. ‘It may have better air, but a few days with your nana makes me long to be back in the smoke.'

‘She's not so bad,' said Sky.

‘Not to you. You're her blue-eyed boy – which is very strange, considering they're brown!'

It was true. Rosalind's parents had been appalled when she had told them she was expecting a baby, even though it wasn't unusual for unmarried girls any more. Then the golden boy with his chestnut curls had won Joyce Meadows over and it broke her heart when they moved to London. That had largely been Geoffrey Meadows's idea and his widow had often hinted she would like them to move back.

Up till now, Sky had thought that would be a disaster, but here he was speeding towards Devon and the girl he really liked and the two other people who now meant most to him in his life. And until as recently as a few weeks ago he had never spoken to any of them.

‘It's enormous!' said Arianna, looking at the cathedral cupola. Fine as the Basilica of Santa Maddalena was in Bellezza, with its silver domes and mosaics, it couldn't rival Saint-Mary-of-the-Lily for size and grandeur.

She was staying at the Bellezzan Embassy in the Borgo Sant' Ambrogio. It was uncomfortably close to the Palazzo di Chimici in the Via Larga, and it was with relief that she learned that the Duke had moved further in towards the city's centre. Her Ambassador had refused as diplomatically as he could, on Arianna's behalf, all the offers for her and her retinue to stay at either palace, on the grounds that it was the first visit of a Duchessa of Bellezza to Giglia for nearly twenty years and that the Embassy must have the privilege of entertaining her.

She stood on the balcony of the Embassy's most splendid bedroom, looking down the Borgo towards the cathedral. In a few weeks she must attend the splendid weddings there and she still did not know what to do about the Duke's dress. Barbara was unpacking it even now, smoothing out invisible creases in the jewel-encrusted skirt, although it really was too stiff to crumple, even on a long journey.

There was a tap at the door. ‘May I come inne?' said Doctor Dethridge, putting his grizzled head around it. ‘Youre visitours have arryved.'

He was followed by Rodolfo and Luciano, and Arianna's heart lifted to see them both. Her visit to Giglia might be a diplomatic quagmire but at least she was to be surrounded by people she loved, who were Stravaganti into the bargain. She would be much more comfortable with her father and Luciano living in the Embassy.

*

In another part of the city, two more Stravaganti were talking about the Duchessa's safety. Giuditta Miele was visiting Brother Sulien in his laboratory, drinking a tisane of mallow.

‘Rodolfo has called a meeting of members of the Brotherhood for this afternoon,' Sulien was saying. ‘With Doctor Dethridge now arrived in the city, there will be five of us. Six if you count young Celestino.'

‘That will not be enough,' said Giuditta. ‘You know my apprentice Franco? The pretty one.'

Sulien nodded.

‘He has been posing for Bruno Vecchietto, who has been painting angels all over the Nucci's new palace. And he told Franco there is definitely trouble brewing. Their armoury is stocked full of weapons, and they are not a military family.'

‘But there is no reason to suppose their violence will be offered to the young Duchessa, is there?' asked Sulien. ‘It is the di Chimici who are their enemies, and since Bellezza is opposed to the Duke's plans, I should have thought the Nucci would be on Arianna's side.'

‘Violence is never tidy, Sulien,' said Giuditta. ‘All it takes is for young men armed with swords and daggers to get their blood up and there could be a massacre. Can you be sure Arianna will be safe in such a mêlée?'

‘What would you have us do?' asked the friar. ‘Rodolfo will be open to suggestion.'

‘If only there were another strong faction who could help keep order,' said Giuditta.

‘The Nucci could have been useful,' said Sulien thoughtfully, ‘but not since the death of Davide. If they see the opportunity to attack the di Chimici they will be caught up in that, not looking out for the Duchessa.'

‘We need more Stravaganti here,' said Giuditta. ‘I would have Rodolfo summon others of the Brotherhood from all over Talia. If it comes to a fight, it is not swordsmen we need, but those who can communicate without words and surround the Duchessa with their thoughts rather than their muscles.'