City of Stars (8 page)

Gaetano had been so racked with guilt that he could still scarcely bear to look at his brother. He couldn't help feeling that the accident would never have happened if he hadn't refused Falco's request. Falco didn't blame him; no one did. Falco knew that he had no one to blame but himself. He couldn't forgive himself for the death of the beautiful horse and he felt that his own injuries were deserved. Sometimes he told himself that the loss of Gaetano's easy companionship was one more punishment that he had to bear, but it was hard.

‘I wonder where Gaetano is now?' he thought.

And as if by magic, a horseman suddenly appeared on the dusty road from Remora. Falco knew straightaway that it was Gaetano – no one else sat a horse like that. In the old days, he would have run down to the entrance to fling his arms round his brother. Now he couldn't, even if he wanted to. He stayed where he was, wondering what brought his brother here in such haste.

Georgia felt much better for her ride. She was no longer tired but exhilarated. She was young, fit and healthy and she was going to see Lucien again tonight; she could spend all Sunday in bed if necessary. Even Russell's sneering face waiting for her at home couldn't affect her good mood.

As soon as she got back, she ran herself a very hot bath, with jojoba-scented bubbles. She could hear Russell grumbling away outside the bathroom door, but it was one of Maura's unbreakable rules that Georgia should have a hot soak after riding. She lay in the water till it grew cold, topping it up from the hot tap and daydreaming about Remora.

With a jolt, she realised she was drifting off to sleep. She hastily got out of the bath and towelled herself vigorously. She slipped her dressing-gown on top of her underwear and dropped the jodhpurs into the clothes hamper, extracting the winged horse from the pocket first. It was protected by bubble-wrap. Awkward as it had been to have it there during the ride, she would not let it out of her possession. Not with Russell on the loose.

Gaetano took the marble stairs two at a time. The servant at the door had told him where Falco was. He didn't hesitate. He ran to Falco and took him in his arms as he hadn't done for two years.

‘Brother,' he gasped. ‘I had to see you. Father wants me to get married!'

Falco was touched. This was like the old days, when the two brothers had confided everything to one another. He returned Gaetano's embrace affectionately, looking into his troubled face.

‘Who is she?' he asked. ‘You don't seem very happy about it.'

‘Oh, as for that, I don't care,' said Gaetano, rather more bitterly than his words suggested. ‘I never expected to have much say in the matter. But I had begun to think Father wanted me to enter the church.'

‘And are you disappointed?' asked Falco, surprised.

‘No, no,' said Gaetano, impatiently pacing the loggia. ‘You don't understand. It's not just about me. It seems that Father has now decided that
you
are to be the next Pope in the family!'

Falco was stunned. His quick mind understood it all, even as his brother's had. He was no longer the beautiful youngest son, fit to bear a crown or marry into any of Talia's princely families. No woman could be expected to look at him. So he could be relegated to the church, whose priests did not marry. He would grow old, having known no female touch but that of his mother and sister. And by the time Uncle Ferdinando died, Falco would be an eligible cardinal. The election would be rigged and he would be Pope.

Falco loved his father, but he had no illusions about him. Niccolò would fix everything and, if he died before Ferdinando, he would have made sure that his successor Fabrizio would carry out his plan. Falco felt that his whole future was mapped out for him at the age of thirteen. There was a tiny part of his brain that didn't even mind. He could become a great scholar-priest, write treatises on philosophy, become an expert on fine wines. He could see it all. But he was only a boy, even if a very clever one, and he hadn't quite accepted that his active life was over.

Gaetano looked stricken. ‘I can't let this happen to you. We have to think of another way. The person I'm supposed to marry is the new Duchessa of Bellezza. She's only a girl – younger than me. Father showed me her portrait; she's very beautiful.'

‘They always are in paintings, aren't they?' said Falco. ‘Remember the story of the Princess Rosa Miranda?'

Gaetano smiled his great twisted smile. The story of the princess had been one of his best inventions. It had carried them through one whole summer, a long complicated tale of lovers betrayed and family feuds, with many exciting swordfights. It wrung Gaetano's heart to remember that time, when Falco had been equally happy springing from stair to stair as the Baron of Moresco or wrapped in an old blue velvet curtain pretending to be the beautiful princess.

‘Listen,' said Gaetano. ‘This Duchessa. Her father and regent is Rodolfo Rossi. He's a powerful magician. Father told me he's a Stravagante.'

Falco's eyes grew even huger. ‘What's that?'

Gaetano hesitated. ‘I don't know exactly. But I do know that Father and the others are really impressed by them. They know all sorts of secrets. There seems to be enmity between them and our family though. Father would never just ask for their help.'

‘About what?' asked Falco.

‘About you,' said Gaetano. ‘If I go through with this and marry the girl, I'm going to ask her father to help you. I'm sure he has skills that can make you better. Then you wouldn't have to be Pope. You could do whatever you want.'

Falco's eyes filled with tears. Not because he thought the Stravagante of Bellezza could cure him. He didn't believe that for a moment. But because Gaetano was his friend again.

*

This time Georgia was expected in the stables of the Ram. A horse had been saddled for her. Cesare smiled at her. ‘We're going to visit Merla,' he said. ‘Shall I give you a leg up?'

‘Riding by day and by night,' thought Georgia, nodding. ‘I'll have muscles like Schwarzenegger!'

‘Where's Luciano?' she asked, as Cesare mounted his own horse.

‘He's going to meet us there,' he said.

The two of them walked their horses up the cobbled street to the Gate of the Ram and through it. They trotted alongside the city wall, passing the Gate of the Bull and that of the Twins, till they reached the broad road that led north from the Gate of the Sun. They quickened their pace as they passed the Twelfth of the Twins, but a shadow on horseback slipped out of the Twins' gate behind them and followed their path. Not right behind them of course; he let several carts and travellers pass between them. Enrico was much too skilled a spy to let himself be seen.

Chapter 7

A Harp Plays in Santa Fina

Santa Fina was a revelation to Georgia. She had thought that Remora, with its narrow cobbled streets and sudden sun-filled piazzas, was the most amazing place she had ever seen. But Santa Fina seemed to consist entirely of churches and towers.

The main church, on what Cesare told her was the market square, was built like a fortress, with a broad flight of steps up to the front door. The steps were never empty; priests, pilgrims and tourists were constantly going to or coming from the church. Georgia could tell that this little hill-town was older than the present city of Remora. ‘Mediaeval' was the word that came into her mind, yet it didn't seem as ancient as that term suggested. ‘It must be because I'm in the sixteenth century here,' she thought. ‘So the Middle Ages aren't so far back.'

‘What are you thinking?' asked Cesare, as they stood in the market square, with the daily life of Santa Fina teeming around them.

‘It's like a film set,' said Georgia. ‘I can't believe it's real.'

‘I don't know what that means,' said Cesare, a small knot forming on his brow. ‘But I know what you mean about it not seeming real. People often feel that way about Santa Fina.'

They turned off up a side street and walked their horses through a maze of little alleys, finally emerging outside the town to the west, where there was a large complex of stables, much bigger and grander than the ones in the Twelfth of the Ram. Luciano was waiting for them in the yard. He looked a bit embarrassed.

‘I came by carriage,' he said. ‘I can't ride.'

He looked up at Georgia in admiration and she felt her colour begin to rise.

‘It's easy,' she said quickly. ‘I could teach you.'

Luciano backed away a little, looking alarmed. ‘I don't think so,' he said. ‘I don't really like horses. They scare me.'

Cesare laughed. Here at last was something he could do that the handsome young Stravagante could not. He jumped lightly down from his horse and led Georgia into the stables where he was quite at home. Roderigo, the Horsemaster of Santa Fina, was a large jolly man who welcomed the young people heartily and showed them where they could stable their horses. As soon as the animals were installed and given food and water, Roderigo took Cesare and Georgia and Luciano round to the back of his premises. It was clear that he thought all three of them were young men, and he was much amused by Luciano's lack of experience with horses.

‘We have one here that wouldn't frighten you, hey Cesare?' he said, clapping Luciano on the shoulder. ‘Give her a few more weeks and she could carry you anywhere. You wouldn't need to worry about clearing walls or fences. Then you could progress to a more ordinary mount. A young man like you needs a horse. How else are you to ride behind the carriage of your lady-love? Or fetch her treasures from distant cities?'

‘I live in Bellezza,' said Luciano. ‘We don't have horses there.'

‘Oh, that explains everything,' said Roderigo. ‘To come to Remora from the City of Masks is a bit like going to sea for a farm boy. It just takes a while for you to find your new legs. We'll get you up and riding before we send you back.'

They passed a farmhouse, where Roderigo obviously lived, and went round behind it to what looked like an old barn. One of Roderigo's grooms sat outside on a bale of hay, whittling at a piece of wood with his knife.

‘All right, Diego?' said Roderigo as they passed inside.

‘Yes, all quiet,' said the groom. He was clearly guarding something and, like all guards, was bored by his duty.

It was dark and dusty inside the barn. A horse whinnied from the shadows at the back. Georgia went towards it. As her eyes became adjusted to the gloom she could just make out a beautiful pale grey mare.

‘Hello, Starlight,' said Cesare affectionately, and the mare tossed her head in recognition.

‘She's gorgeous,' said Georgia, who had not really taken much notice of the mother the night she saw the winged foal. Even Luciano could see this was a fine animal.

‘But wait till you see her foal,' said Roderigo proudly. ‘Come on, girl. You can trust us.'

It seemed to Georgia as if the mare hesitated a little, looking carefully at her and Luciano, as if checking they were friends. But she obviously felt at home with Cesare and Roderigo. She moved aside a little and Georgia gasped. Both she and Luciano knew what they had come to see, but the sight was still stupefying, even though for Georgia it was for the second time. Luciano could not believe his own eyes and stood spellbound.

The black filly was perfectly made, with the blurred outline of a young animal still growing. But there on her back lay folded a pair of glossy black wings, something known only in legend. Even Cesare was impressed all over again.

‘How she's grown!' he exclaimed. ‘Father was right. He said these winged ones grow faster than ordinary horses.'

The wings had grown in perfect proportion. Their feathers were less downy than they had been at birth and, as they watched her, Merla lifted and stretched them as naturally as she arched her neck. It was an awesome sight.

‘How long before she can fly?' asked Cesare.

‘Soon now,' said Roderigo. ‘But we can only take her out at night. We can't risk her being seen.'

*

‘I'm taking you out,' said Gaetano. ‘You have been shut up in the palazzo for too long.'

‘But how?' asked Falco. ‘I can't ride.'

He limped away a few steps so that his brother shouldn't see his expression.

‘You can sit in front of me,' said Gaetano gently. ‘Surely you wouldn't mind that? We could go down into town and I could buy us some granita.'

Falco suddenly felt an urge to see something outside the great palace. His hopes, as crushed as his body had been by the accident, were reviving, in spite of himself. Perhaps one day he would lead a nearly normal life again? At least he could make a start by going out with his big brother.

‘All right,' he said, and was rewarded by one of Gaetano's huge crooked smiles.

*

Enrico let his horse saunter along the side streets of Santa Fina. He had seen where the young men from the Ram had turned off and he had no doubt that it would be easy enough to track them down. His restless brain was only half involved with today's task. His work for the Pope involved spying on the Twins' rivals and he had decided to start with the Ram, but he wasn't expecting any quick result.

Enrico was thorough. After the Rams, who were the Twins' enemy because of the rivalry between the cities of Remora and Bellezza, he would investigate the Twelfth of the Bull, who were traditional adversaries of the Twins. And then he would see what he could find out in the stables of the Scales, who were traditionally at daggers drawn with the Lady. And of course he would keep his eyes open in the Twelfth of the Lady itself. He might be in the pay of Pope and Duke, but there were always possibilities of further employment when you were a spy and Enrico was quite accustomed to serving several masters.

He was in his element in Remora. Like his old master, Rinaldo, he had disliked being in a city without horses. And he resented the place that had taken away his fiancée. But there was more to it than that. He liked the way that this whole city revolved around ancient antagonisms and alliances. And he appreciated the skill involved in rigging the great annual race. That was the sort of thing Enrico himself was good at.

He found himself outside the town and looking at a large stableyard. ‘Interesting,' thought Enrico. ‘I think my horse needs a rest.'

*

Georgia and the two boys left the stables in a daze. They were going to explore the town and come back for the horses later. Georgia was silent, thinking about what she had seen, and found herself back in the square with the huge church before she knew it.

Now she could see that Luciano was as intrigued by Santa Fina as she had been. His carriage from Remora had skirted the town, not being able to negotiate the narrow streets, and so he had missed the extraordinary square. Even though he was a Talian now, he couldn't help seeing Santa Fina through twenty-first-century eyes. Having Georgia with him intensified it. He was now seeing Talia from the viewpoint of a new Stravagante, just as he had over a year ago.

‘What do you think?' asked Georgia.

‘It reminds me of Montemurato,' said Luciano. ‘The place where I first met Doctor Dethridge. That has lots of towers too, though those are round the edge. He was working in a stable there.'

There was so much that Georgia didn't know about Lucien's new life. She wanted to ask him about every aspect of it, but she felt shy in front of Cesare.

‘You should see inside the church,' said Cesare now. ‘It's famous for its paintings.'

The three young people climbed the steep steps up to the undecorated façade of the church. They passed out of the brilliant sunshine into a darkness as deep as that of Roderigo's barn. But this darkness was cold, not warm and friendly with the smell of horses. The smell here was of incense and the church was dimly lit at the altar end with large candles.

Once their eyes had adjusted, they could see that the walls were covered with paintings. Georgia could make out scenes from the life of Christ. But suddenly she spotted a side chapel with other subjects on the wall – Leda and the Swan, Andromeda and the sea-serpent – and there was Pegasus, flying through the painted clouds. She pointed him out to Cesare and Luciano.

On the floor was a circular marble inlay that was a bit like the Campo delle Stelle. It showed all the signs of the zodiac round the edge and was divided up like the great Piazza, except that it didn't show the Sun and Moon segments. It would have been quite out of place in a church in England, thought Georgia, but it seemed natural in Santa Fina.

They were all very quiet in the church, a bit overawed by the atmosphere. But they eventually came out into some cool cloisters, surrounding a grassy square with a fountain in the middle. And from beyond the cloisters, Georgia could distinctly hear the sound of a harp.

*

The journey wasn't as bad as Falco had feared. He let Gaetano lift him in his strong arms and place him in front of the saddle, where he clung on to the horse's mane. His right leg dangled uselessly, but his left knee came up and instinctively pressed against the horse's flank. Falco buried his face in the coarse hair of the mane and inhaled; it was good to be on horseback again. Gaetano was soon up behind him, passing his arms around Falco's waist to hold the reins. He had bound his brother's sticks behind the saddle.

And so they travelled, slowly, into the town of Santa Fina. It was filled with life: stallholders called out their wares in the market square, customers haggled loudly, dogs barked, birds wheeled round the many towers, the sound of chanting came from the big church.

They made their way round the edge of the square and out through an arch on the other side. They were heading for a place that had been a favourite haunt of theirs in years gone by, a tiny shop behind the church, where a woman known as La Mandragola made exquisite granita. Gaetano dismounted and tied his horse to an iron ring in the wall. Then he helped Falco slide off the horse's neck and propped him up until his sticks were restored to him.

As they sat on chairs outside the ice shop, spooning up the cold crystals of frozen apricot and melon, the notes of a harp tumbled and splashed through the warm still air. ‘I must be in heaven,' Falco said to his brother. ‘I can hear angels.'

*

Enrico soon made himself at home in Roderigo's stables. His eyes darted everywhere. He had easily identified the mounts of his quarries and spotted the two carriage horses with the Bellezzan rosettes on their harnesses hanging up in the stall. His easy ways and familiarity with horses ensured that the grooms were friendly to him. But it was when one of them left and another appeared from round the back of the farmhouse that Enrico's sixth sense kicked in.

‘That looks like a change of watch,' he thought, even as he exchanged banter with two other grooms, and he went out of his way to be cordial to the newcomer, whose name was Diego.

‘You look as if you've had a hard morning,' he said eventually. ‘Let me buy you a drink.'