City of Stars (31 page)

Preparations were afoot in Remora for one of the biggest nights of celebration of the year. Only one Twelfth would be feasting and drinking toasts the following night, but on the eve of the Stellata every Twelfth could live in hope. The streets of each were filled with wooden trestle tables and benches and, in every kitchen, pots already bubbled with sauces while women mixed and cut the dough for pasta in a hundred different shapes. Carts brought lettuces and vegetables to the markets and they disappeared almost before they could be laid out on the stalls. Barrels of ale and casks of wine were rolled along the streets to the central squares of every Twelfth in readiness for the night's carousing.

The grandest meal would be held in the cathedral square, which was also the main meeting-place of the Twins, and would be presided over by the Pope. But every member of every Twelfth would turn out to his or her own Stellata dinner with equal enjoyment.

In the Papal palace, the di Chimici were having a conference about what to do that evening. The original plan had been that Duke Niccolò and most of his children would eat at the Lady's table and then pay a formal visit to the Twins, perhaps leaving Carlo and Beatrice to represent the family in the Twelfth which owed allegiance to Giglia. But now no one knew if Niccolò could be prised out of the hospital for long enough to attend either celebration.

The visiting Duchessa and her father would of course eat with the Pope in the Twins and someone from the family must keep her company, Gaetano being the obvious candidate.

Rinaldo would eat his dinner in the Goat, joined by his brother Alfonso, now Duke of Volana. Other di Chimici family members were already arriving to see the great race. Francesca's brother Filippo was coming to represent Bellona and they would both attend the dinner in the Scales, while two young princesses, Lucia and Bianca, were coming from Fortezza to visit the Bull. Even the old Prince of Moresco, with his unmarried son and heir Ferrando, had made his way to Remora in time to join the feast in the Scorpion.

‘The city is swarming with di Chimici,' said Rodolfo, as he entered Arianna's chamber in the Papal palace.

‘Well, we knew it would be,' said Arianna. ‘They are all supposed to witness a win for the leaders of their family and an ignominious loss for Bellezza. That's what this visit is all about.'

‘Not just that, Arianna,' Rodolfo reminded her. ‘The time is coming when you must give Gaetano your answer.'

‘He hasn't asked me the question yet,' she said.

Georgia reached the Mulhollands' front door with relief. It had been very scary walking to Falco's in the dark. So many street-lights were out and all the houses were in darkness, except for the odd high rectangle of light in attic rooms where people studied or had rows or just couldn't sleep.

One of them was Falco and that was lucky for Georgia. She scooped some gravel from the planters outside the front door and threw it up at Falco's window, smiling as she did so. It was such a cliché of the adventure stories she had read as a child and she had never done it in real life. After a few misses – it was harder than the stories suggested – she was rewarded by the sight of a dark head at the open window.

‘Falco!' she hissed, as loudly as she dared. ‘Can you let me in?'

There was a long wait while the crippled boy made his way down to the front door as quickly and quietly as he could. Georgia had never been so glad to see anyone and to slip indoors out of the menacing darkness. She put her finger to her lips and motioned him to lock up again.

Silently they climbed the stairs and even when they were safely inside Falco's bedroom, they had to talk in whispers so that Vicky and David wouldn't hear them.

Georgia looked round the room, illuminated by Falco's bedside light. She had never been more acutely aware that this was Luciano's old bedroom, from which he was exiled for ever. But tonight she must be strictly practical so she looked quickly at the back of the door.

‘Good,' she whispered. ‘You've got a bolt. You must lock us in.'

The Twelfth of the Ram was decked out in red and yellow banners, its tables covered in red and yellow cloths and the walls of all the streets decorated with elaborate painted wooden cressets, just waiting to be lit when darkness fell. Everywhere the sign of the Ram was painted and children wore miniature helmets with ram's horns on them.

In Paolo's house the babies had gone to sleep and the little girls had allowed themselves to be put to bed only if they could take their flags with them. Georgia came down from the hayloft, still in her jockey's silks, and was embraced by Paolo and Teresa.

‘Time for the heat,' said Paolo.

‘Good luck,' said Luciano, and gave her a hug. At that moment, Georgia decided it was time she did more than just stay on the horse. The hopes of the Ram were all resting on her and, even more important, Luciano was willing her on.

Everyone said that the result of a heat didn't matter, but there was an atmosphere about this one that made it feel different. It was Georgia's first evening of staying in Remora intentionally and she could only hope that the arrangements she had made back in London would work. She put all that out of her mind and concentrated on the race.

This time she wasn't last. She came in tenth, ahead of the Goat and the Crab. All the Rams applauded her and she would have felt it was quite an achievement, if the Fishes hadn't won, with their jockey, Il Re, on Noè. Several Fishes booed at Georgia as she left the track and called out what she assumed were rude names in Talian.

But she was accompanied back to the Ram by a troop of enthusiastic Twelvers chanting ‘Zonzo! Zonzo!' and ‘Montone! Montone!' – ‘The Ram! The Ram!'

Arcangelo was taken to cool down in his little grass paddock and Georgia found herself embraced by lots of strangers, who patted her on the back and told her she had done well. She had saved the Ram's honour and they loved her for it.

It was an unusual feeling for Georgia, who had never been popular, and it intoxicated her more than the red wine which was being liberally poured for her. She was led to the top table outside the Ram's huge church, the Santa Trinità, and was delighted to find that Luciano and Dethridge were to sit with her. She had feared that they might be whisked off to the Twins with the young Duchessa. Another guest at the top table was Silvia Bellini – where else would she eat that celebration meal if not in the Twelfth dear to Bellezza?

Twelvers were streaming up the main street of the Ram, the Via di Montone. Gradually all the places at the long tables were filled up, the cressets were lighted and the feasting began.

The first thing that happened was that Paolo stood up and called out loudly for silence.

‘Montonaioli!' he said. ‘I present to you our jockey for tomorrow – Giorgio Gredi!'

The applause was a roar.

‘He has stepped in at short notice to replace my son Cesare and we are for ever in his debt.' More cheers. Then the priest of Santa Trinità stood on the steps leading up to the church and Georgia had to go and receive a special helmet from him. It was in the colours of the Ram but made of metal, unlike the soft jockey cap she had worn in the heats. Georgia gulped as she realised that the reason she was being given it was that in the real race tomorrow evening the jockeys would all have leather whips and they would use them on each other.

Paolo then stood up again and, in his role as Capitano, made a speech about the honour of the Twelfth and the importance of the Stellata in all their lives. To her horror, Georgia discovered that she was expected to reply. She had never given a speech in public in her life before. But an extraordinary thing happened. Paolo was sitting on her left and Luciano on her right and William Dethridge on the other side of him. As she stood to make her speech, already feeling a little light-headed from the wine, she saw Dethridge and Luciano clasp hands. Luciano took a piece of the edge of her silk tunic in his free hand and Paolo did the same on the other side of her.

As she opened her mouth to speak, she felt a great rush of energy running through her. Her voice seemed strangely deep to her and she found that the words came easily; she felt that she was eloquent, though she could never afterwards remember a word of what she had said. It was all about her love for Remora and for the Ram in particular and how she would do her best tomorrow to be worthy of the trust they were placing in her, but the details were a blur.

Still, the Rams seemed to like it and she sat down to thunderous applause. The Stravaganti released their hands to join in and Georgia felt a sudden diminution of her power. Silvia leaned over from her seat next to Dethridge and said in a low voice, ‘You know, they could probably arrange for a small beard for you by tomorrow.' And Georgia laughed. She was among friends.

She never forgot that night. It was thrilling just to be in Remora after dark and see the streets lit by torchlight. But to be part of the singing and chanting and celebrating on the greatest night of the Reman year and even to be treated as the guest of honour, with Luciano smiling at her on her right, was sheer bliss. The idea began to grow in her mind that if this was how Remorans celebrated the very fact of running in the race, what on earth would it be like if they won? But she quietly squashed it. Arcangelo was a great horse and they were getting used to each other, but she was not Cesare. She decided to be content with what she had.

As the evening wore on, the singing became louder and more raucous. Toasts were drunk to Georgia, Paolo, Arcangelo, the Ram and anything else the Montonaioli could think of. There was a solemn moment when Paolo called for a toast to the health of Cesare, ‘wherever he may be,' and Luciano added in a whisper, ‘and Merla.'

The food was plentiful – roasted vegetables pungent with garlic and herbs, seafood on beds of sharp watercress, pasta in a myriad of shapes (of which the ones like curled rams' horns were the most prevalent), sauces of wild boar or spinach and pine-nuts, grilled cutlets and chicken, bowls of beans, green and white and red, whole rounds of cheese, mild and soft or blue and tangy – the dishes kept coming.

There was a pause while wooden platters were cleared and a cloaked figure slipped in between Georgia and Luciano. A velvet hood was pulled back and Georgia found herself looking into the violet eyes of Arianna. She was unmasked. Paolo gasped and instantly stood and called for another toast. He couldn't acknowledge Arianna's presence directly – the fact that she was unmasked showed her to be there incognita – and he had no idea how she had escaped from the Twins' banquet. But he called for another toast to their patron city and the word ‘Bellezza!' rang round the Via di Montone.

‘Bellezza!' echoed Georgia, drinking rather unsteadily from her silver goblet.

‘Thank you,' said Arianna, amused. ‘And thank you for not coming last today. It seems that my Twelfth will not be disgraced tomorrow after all.'

Georgia was fascinated by her. It was not just that she was beautiful, although she was, in a dramatic, film-starry sort of way that had nothing to do with her clothes or jewels. It was her history with Luciano, a whole chunk of his life that Georgia didn't know about, and her important and dangerous role as absolute ruler of a city which had held out against the di Chimici.

‘Is Rodolfo with you?' Luciano was asking.

‘No,' said Arianna, without taking her eyes off Georgia. ‘It was bad enough that I made my excuses – a sudden headache, you know. He had to stay to represent our city. But I couldn't let tonight pass without wishing my jockey luck, could I?'