City of Flowers (29 page)

‘That's all right,' said Lucia. ‘After next Tuesday, we will have a lifetime of being alone together.'

*

Sandro was watching the di Chimici palace from the street with Enrico. The Eel thought it was part of his young spy's education to show him the family members as they arrived. Sandro shuddered when he saw Prince Carlo come back with his father and older brother; Fratello growled softly.

‘Now, you are straight about which prince is going to marry which princess?' asked Enrico. ‘The little redhead who came from Fortezza tonight gets Carlo.'

‘Poor her,' said Sandro under his breath.

‘What was that?' asked Enrico.

‘Which one is the dark sister going to marry?' asked Sandro, to distract him.

‘Duke Alfonso of Volana,' said Enrico promptly. ‘He's coming on Saturday. His sister is Caterina.'

‘The one that Fabrizio is going to marry?' asked Sandro.

‘Well done,' said Enrico. ‘And their brother is?'

Sandro shook his head. ‘No idea.'

‘My old master, Rinaldo,' said Enrico. ‘I worked for him when he was Ambassador to Bellezza. A real pansy. He works for the Pope now. They won't be here till Monday because the Pope has to say the Easter Mass in his own city of Remora.'

‘The Pope's the Duke's brother, isn't he?'

‘His younger one, yes. Now, who is Prince Gaetano's bride?'

‘Francesca of Bellona,' said Sandro, screwing up his face with the effort of remembering. ‘He's always talking about her.'

‘Right then, you know all our lot. Now how about the Nucci? How many are there at the tower now?'

‘Well, you know about Matteo,' said Sandro, ‘and Camillo and Filippo. There are at least eight others – cousins, I think, or uncles – whose names I don't know.'

‘But you know them by sight? You'd recognise them?'

Sandro nodded.

‘Good lad,' said Enrico. ‘You'll be useful on the day of the weddings.'

*

Sky had a second disguise in Giglia now. Gaetano had given him a set of clothes to keep up at the friary; they were the plainest he had and yet they still made Sky feel the part of a young nobleman. Now he was Brother Tino within the walls of Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines and ordinary Messer Celestino when he went out into the city. In this way he could consort with Georgia without comment and, if they usually had another young friar with them, that lent more respectability to their association. Nicholas continued to need his disguise and the abandonment of Sky's identity as a novice wasn't without its dangers. He had to be careful not to be seen by Nicholas's brothers or the Duke. But the nobles were all involved in the wedding preparations and it was good to stride about the city in clothes that accommodated a sword and dagger at his belt.

On the day after the Fortezzas arrived, Good Friday in Giglia, Sky and Nicholas set out to meet Georgia at Giuditta's workshop a bit later than usual. As novices, they had been required to attend a special service before leaving the friary. In their own world they had been back at school a week and hadn't missed a night's stravagation to Talia. They were tired, their senses a little dulled in both worlds, or they might have been quicker to realise what was happening in the narrow street off the Piazza della Cattedrale.

Most of the streets around the piazza were deserted, since the majority of the people who would normally have been out were still attending a long service in the cathedral. Gaetano and Luciano had used the emptiness of the Annunciation piazza for an early-morning practice with the foils.

They too were on their way to meet Georgia at the sculptor's workshop when they suddenly found their way barred by a small group of the Nucci faction. It was Camillo and two of his cousins and all three were armed to the hilt. Luciano didn't know any of them and was taken by surprise when these obviously hostile youths started to hold their noses and jeer the name di Chimici. He didn't know that the traditional response was to bleat like a sheep and crow ‘Nucci!'

Gaetano was not responding; he and Luciano were outnumbered and he had no desire to provoke a fight so he said nothing.

‘See what lily-livers these lily boys are!' cried Camillo. ‘They don't like a fair fight, these flower-arrangers! They prefer secret stabbings in an alley!'

‘I have no quarrel with you,' said Gaetano finally, as evenly as he could manage. ‘I am sorry for the death of your brother, but it was not my doing.'

‘Maybe so,' sneered Camillo. ‘But you can't deny your family had a hand in it.'

‘I am not my family,' said Gaetano. But it was no use. His attitude was incomprehensible to red-blooded Giglians. In the City of Flowers family was everything. The three Nucci came closer until Camillo's face was only centimetres away from Gaetano's. Meanwhile one of the others gave Luciano a shove. The prince glanced sideways for an instant at his friend and that was time enough for Camillo to draw his dagger and aim it at Gaetano's ribs.

But Gaetano had excellent reflexes and blocked the blade with his left arm and hit him smartly in the face with his right fist. Luciano backed off and drew his rapier and soon his new fighting skills were being used in deadly earnest.

That was when Sky and Nicholas turned the corner and saw what was happening. They both rushed into the fray, Sky drawing his sword awkwardly and Nicholas launching himself at Camillo's back and pinning his arms. Suddenly the odds were against the Nucci. Camillo was disarmed, with Gaetano's blade at his throat, and his cousins found themselves faced by two other armed and ferocious young men, even though one of them was a friar.

‘Call off your men,' said Gaetano, and Camillo nodded gingerly. His cousins sheathed their swords and at a further sign from Camillo retreated into the distance. Gaetano lowered his weapon.

‘Go back to your family,' he said. ‘I say again I have no quarrel with you and nor do my friends.' He signalled to Nicholas to release his hold and Camillo Nucci loped off after the others, cursing all di Chimici as he went.

‘You're bleeding,' said Nicholas to Gaetano, as the others put up their weapons.

They were fortunately near Giuditta's workshop by then and took the wounded prince in.

‘It's not a bad wound,' said Gaetano. ‘The dagger just glanced off my arm.'

‘Just a scratch, I suppose?' said Georgia hysterically. She realised that they had all been in mortal danger.

Giuditta sent her to boil water on the stove, while she eased off Gaetano's doublet and shirtsleeve. The apprentices crowded round; this was better entertainment than they had expected on the long penitential day of Good Friday.

It was indeed only a flesh wound, though it bled impressively. Giuditta tore up a cotton sheet to bandage it.

‘Will it heal by Tuesday?' asked Gaetano, not so much worried about it impeding his wedding as about whether he would be able to fight then if called upon.

Giuditta nodded. ‘It will knit together well enough in a few days if you do not use it. I don't recommend your taking part in the tournament on Monday.' She pulled his shirt and doublet back on gently and made a sling from more of the sheet.

‘So I shan't be able to conceal today's encounter,' he said wryly.

‘Be thankful it was not worse,' said the sculptor. ‘And that you had friends at hand.'

‘But it irks me that Gaetano has taken hurt while the Nucci walked away unscathed,' said Nicholas, surprising the apprentices. They would not have expected a novice friar to be so bloodthirsty.

*

Beatrice was with her other family members in the church of Sant'Ambrogio, and had no idea what had happened. But her thoughts were not altogether concentrated on the service. Because of the religious obligations of this day and of Easter Sunday, there was effectively only Saturday left in which to finish getting everything ready for Monday's tournament and banquet, which would lead rapidly on to the weddings themselves. And Francesca and Alfonso and their wedding parties would arrive on Saturday and need housing and entertaining.

Thank goodness I'm
not
getting married on Tuesday too, she thought, or nothing would be ready in time.

By the time they left the church, it was again raining heavily in the city and the di Chimici party had to make an undignified run to the palazzo.

When Sky returned home after school the next day, there was a red sports car outside his flat. He didn't think for a moment that it had anything to do with him and let himself in as usual. But in his kitchen sat a very glamorous couple. A middle-aged black man with greying dreadlocks and a silk suit, and a stunning long-legged bronzed young woman, sitting perched awkwardly on a kitchen chair with Remedy on the minimal lap of her very short skirt. Rosalind was looking dazed.

But she didn't need to make any introductions; Sky remembered the
Hello!
article when he was eleven. He felt his hackles rising.

‘Hi there, Sky,' said the Warrior awkwardly.

Sky couldn't say anything. What could he say after seventeen years? He moved instinctively close to Rosalind, remembering how the singer had ignored his appeal of three years ago.

Loretta held out a perfectly manicured hand with scarlet nails and Sky took it, fascinated.

‘I've only just heard of your existence,' she said to him. ‘Yesterday, in fact. I'm sorry. If Rainbow had told me, I would have invited you to visit us in the States.'

‘I wouldn't have come,' he said instantly, appreciating her forthrightness. ‘I wouldn't have left Rosalind.'

‘I understand,' said the Warrior. ‘You don't want anything to do with me and I don't blame you. But I didn't want to die never having met one of my sons.'

‘Are you dying, then?' asked Sky rudely. ‘Why should I care? You didn't seem that bothered when Rosalind was ill.'

They all looked at him equally blankly.

‘You know, when I wrote you that letter?' he added. ‘Asking you to find her a good doctor.'

The Warrior shook his head. ‘I never got no letter,' he said. ‘You never told me you'd been ill,' he said to Rosalind.

‘I'm getting better now,' she said. ‘It was tough on Sky for a while – it was ME.'

It was clear from the Warrior's face that he didn't know what she was talking about. Sky felt something beginning to unknot in his stomach. But he was puzzled by the singer's attitude. It sounded as if he and Rosalind had kept in touch, which was not what Sky had been told.

‘I'm sorry,' said the singer. ‘Sorry I didn't get the letter, sorry that your mum's been ill – sorry for being such a rotten father. But she did say that she wanted to bring you up on her own. And I'm not dying – I just wanted to see you in the flesh. All these photos are great but it's not the same.'

He took an envelope from his inside pocket and tipped out a cascade of photographs on the table. Sky saw his whole life spread out in random order, from chubby brown baby to six-foot teenager. The pictures were all tatty round the edges, particularly the older ones, as if they had been handled and looked at often.

For the first time, he saw that he looked like his father.