by Mary Hoffman
‘What?’ asked Diego.
‘Three Rams and two of the Lady going off together,’ said Enrico. ‘Though to be honest, they don’t look very happy about it!’
‘That’ll be the music,’ said Diego. ‘But the Ram and the Lady aren’t adversaries are they?’
Enrico snorted. ‘It’s obvious you don’t live down in the city! Fish and Scales may be their official enemies but Bellezza and the Lady don’t mix and that lot are Bellezza. The curly-haired fellow I’ve seen in the city myself – a great favourite of the new Duchessa he is.’
‘Well,’ said Diego, not to be outdone, ‘the Lady’s men are di Chimici – sons of the great Duke himself!’
He was rewarded by a start from Enrico.
‘Really?’ he said quickly, recovering himself. ‘What a coincidence! I’m working for the Duke myself. Which of the young princes are they?’
‘These two aren’t real princes, or likely to be,’ said Diego. ‘At least, not ones with Princedoms. Theirs are courtesy titles only. Gaetano is a scholar at the university in Giglia and poor little Falco – well, who knows what he’ll be now? Two years ago and he could have been anything.’
‘Is that the kid with the sticks?’ asked Enrico. ‘What happened to him? Listen, why don’t I order some more drinks?’
One of Enrico’s great skills as a spy was knowing when to stop trailing his quarry and settle down to collect information he could use later.
If he could have seen the party in the tavern by the town museum, he would have been sure that he had made the right decision. No one was saying anything. Luciano and Gaetano had vied with each other to order food and drink for the group and now there was silence while they waited for it to be brought. Aurelio sat calmly in their midst, his harp now wrapped up in a sack and propped against a wall. He was apparently unaware of the tensions around him.
‘I should like to know who my hosts are,’ he said. ‘Not their positions in society,’ he added. ‘Just the names.’
Gaetano felt foolish. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I am Gaetano di Chimici and here is also my younger brother Falco.’
Aurelio turned his face towards where the boy was sitting.
‘You are the injured one,’ he said quietly.
‘And I am Luciano Crinamorte,’ broke in Luciano. ‘I am with my friends Cesare and Giorgio.’ He stumbled a bit over Giorgio’s name but managed to say it in the boy’s way.
‘I am Aurelio Vivoide,’ said the musician, ‘and this is Raffaella. We are Manoush.’
Everyone looked blank. But Aurelio did not expand. He seemed content to sit and wait for his meal. Then Gaetano seemed to make a decision. He turned to Luciano and said, ‘Did I hear you say you worked for Senator Rossi? Is it true he’s a Stravagante?’
Georgia couldn’t help herself; she was tired of being ignored.
‘You don’t have to go all the way to Bellezza to find one,’ she said. ‘I’m a Stravagante myself.’
Chapter 8
The Manoush
‘Georgia!’ cried Luciano, forgetting she was supposed to be a boy, he was so horrified by her careless revelation.
‘That word should not be used lightly,’ said Aurelio. ‘Or spoken at all except in private, between trusted friends. You don’t know me. If what you say is true, I could be a great danger to you. And so could these young men.’
It was true. Georgia knew she had been more than careless. Who knew what danger she might have brought to Luciano and his friends? She was quite miserable. But help came from an unexpected quarter.
‘Don’t be too hard on him,’ said Gaetano, who obviously hadn’t noticed Luciano’s slip. ‘I know that my family have some sort of a feud with the ... with those you named. But I’m not interested in that. My father hasn’t told me anything about it – I’m not important enough for politics. The only reason I want to meet a ... a you-know-what, is to see if they can do anything for my brother.’
It crossed Luciano’s mind that Gaetano might be OK, even though he was a di Chimici. He believed what the young noble had just said; he was obviously very fond of his younger brother. And Falco was an attractive boy, intelligent looking and clearly very unhappy. Luciano understood the downside of living in the sixteenth century. Even a family as wealthy as the di Chimici couldn’t heal a darling son if he had been hurt as badly as Falco seemed to have been. And Luciano knew how it felt to be incurable.
At that moment serving-men came out with laden trays. Everyone was hungry and there was no more discussion, except for what was needed in sharing a meal. And, strangely enough, by the time their appetites had been satisfied, the animosity seemed to have evaporated. But Georgia was still uneasy about her gaffe.
‘Tell us about the Manoush,’ she said to Aurelio. ‘You’re quite right; I don’t know anything about you. There’s lots I don’t know about Talia.’
‘We are not Talian, for a start,’ said Aurelio.
Raffaella nodded. She looked quite a lot like the harpist. She was tall, with the same long black hair, except that hers was elaborately braided and intertwined with coloured ribbons. They both wore long, flowing clothes, patched but embroidered with silks that had once been bright. Raffaella’s even had little mirrors stitched round the hem and on the sleeves. They were slightly darker skinned than Cesare and the di Chimici and their floating scarves and embroidered over-tunics gave them an exotic air. Georgia hadn’t noticed at first because all Talians seemed exotic to her, but there was something different about Aurelio and Raffaella.
‘We come from the East,’ said the woman. ‘But we have no country. We are wanderers from place to place. In that we are similar to those we have agreed not to name.’
‘Are there many of you?’ asked Falco.
‘Many,’ said Aurelio. ‘As many as there are grains of sand on the shore.’
‘But there are not so many of us in Talia,’ added Raffaella. ‘We are on our way to the City of Stars. There will be more of us coming over the next weeks.’
‘It is a place of pilgrimage for us,’ said Aurelio. ‘It celebrates the life of our goddess, even though it doesn’t know that is what it does.’
‘I know who you are now!’ exclaimed Cesare. ‘Zinti, we call you, the travelling people. You come for the Stellata – I’ve seen you there.’
‘We are not interested in your horse race,’ said Aurelio, though he didn’t say it rudely. ‘It just happens to coincide with our older festival. Yours is not the only city to celebrate the day, but some of us prefer it to other cities. It feels right to us.’
He turned his face in Georgia’s direction. ‘You need not worry. We do not concern ourselves in the politics of Talia or any other country. Having no land of our own, we are not interested in disputes over who rules patches of earth – even those with great cities built on them. But as wanderers, we are interested in other travellers, from wherever and whichever time they come. We meet many people on our journeys and we strive to learn from them. The last place we were in, Raffaella and I were befriended by one of the same order that Signor Gaetano was mentioning. That city was Bellona and the man was wise and learned.’
‘Exactly,’ said Gaetano. ‘That’s what I’ve heard. But I was brought up to believe that they are powerful and dangerous and that they hold the key to some important mystery that could help Talia but that they refuse to use it for the common good.’
Luciano made as if to interrupt, but Gaetano gestured to him to wait.
‘I know, I know. I no longer believe that to be true.’ He turned to Falco. ‘It pains me to say it, but I think that Father put that idea about so that he could get hold of whatever secret it is. And I don’t think that he plans to use it to help the people of Talia.’
There was silence around the table. Luciano’s opinion of the young di Chimici had gone up. He could imagine how difficult it was for Gaetano to admit his suspicions. Falco was struggling with his own feelings; he loved his father but he knew how dominating Niccolò could be. Had he not just
heard that his own fate was to be arranged by the Duke without any reference to Falco’s own wishes?
Cesare’s emotions were also complicated. It was hard being both Remoran and a Ram; all such citizens had the problem of divided loyalties. Being traditionally connected with Bellezza, the Rams distrusted the di Chimici. But this was the first time he had ever encountered any of them. Stable boys, even the sons of honoured Horsemasters, did not normally socialise with the children of Dukes.
Georgia felt thoroughly out of her depth. She barely knew who the di Chimici were or why they were at odds with the Stravaganti. And she couldn’t decide what to make of the mysterious Manoush. Aurelio said they didn’t take sides, but could that be possible? Everyone in Remora seemed so sure where they belonged and where their loyalties lay.
‘Believe me,’ Gaetano continued, ‘I am not trying to find out anything that will help my family with any plot. The only thing I want to know is – will Senator Rossi’s secret help my brother?’
Luciano’s mind went back to his first meeting with Rodolfo on his roof garden in Bellezza. ‘The di Chimici want to help only the di Chimici,’ the Stravagante had said. They had been talking about the ruling family of northern Talia wanting to use the art of stravagation to learn the secrets of modern medicine and modern warfare. Then it had seemed so much more sinister than it did now that he heard this earnest young man wanting a cure for his brother.
‘I can’t talk about Rodolfo’s secrets,’ said Luciano. ‘You can’t expect me to. But he is one of the cleverest and most powerful people I know, and he will be here in a few weeks. I’m sure you know that the Duchessa has been invited to the Stellata – she and her Regent will soon be here. My foster-father and I came from Bellezza to visit the Twelfth of the Ram, to make sure that they would be safe in the city of Remora. You will forgive me for reminding you that the Duchessa’s mother was assassinated in her own city, so we have to be very careful of her coming to somewhere ruled by ... by her adversaries.’
Gaetano restrained himself; he needed this arrogant young Bellezzan’s help. ‘I’m sure her Grace will be as safe here as anywhere in Talia,’ he said stiffly. ‘And we are not her adversaries. We have no knowledge of her mother’s assassination and were as shocked by it as the rest of the country. Indeed, my father is sending me to escort her here and I can assure you that I shall pay every attention to her security and comfort.’
This was news to Luciano, and he wasn’t sure that he liked it. He believed Gaetano when he said that he knew nothing about the assassination, but he wondered how this ugly but likeable young man would react if he knew that the Duchessa had not been killed at all, that she was in fact living comfortably in Padavia, keeping an eye on her daughter, and her city, from a safe distance.
But all he said was, ‘Then you will meet my master yourself. You can talk to him about your brother directly.’
Gaetano was not so easily satisfied. He looked at Georgia. ‘What about you?’ he said. ‘If you are what you say you are, and not just boasting, perhaps there is something you can tell us?’
*
In a courtyard of a comfortable house near the cathedral in Padavia sat a well-dressed and striking middle-aged woman. Her green satin dress was cut full in the Bellezzan style and her hair was elaborately coiffed. She fingered a string of rubies round her neck as she waited for her visitor.
A tall red-haired manservant showed another woman out into the courtyard garden. She was a little older than the first and much plumper, but also looked prosperous. The two women embraced like old friends, although they had known each other little more than a year.
‘Silvia!’ said the visitor. ‘You look as lovely and as young as ever.’
The other woman laughed. ‘That was always my speciality, if you remember. But I have to achieve it on my own here. Guido, tell Susanna to bring refreshment out here please.’
They sat at a stone table under a vine. The flower-filled courtyard was quiet, with an air of sanctuary. Both women were aware of it. They had lived through dangerous and exciting times in Bellezza and now Silvia was safe. But was she a survivor or an exile? Her visitor voiced the thought.
‘Doesn’t it ever get dull for you here?’
‘What can you possibly mean, Leonora?’ said Silvia, mockingly. ‘I have my embroidery and my good works and a vegetable garden to oversee. I’m even thinking of buying an olive farm – didn’t Rodolfo tell you? I am always busy.’
Her friend was saved from answering by the arrival of the maid Susanna, with a tray of iced lemonade and cakes. The manservant, Guido, followed and remained positioned near the gate. It was obvious that he never left his mistress’s side for long.
The two women were quite comfortable talking in front of the servants. Susanna had served her mistress for many years and as for Guido, though he had first encountered Silvia with the intention of killing her, he was now her devoted slave. She had used her own money to care for his sick father even though Guido had been employed to assassinate her. The old man had died a month ago, peacefully in his sleep, but he had not lacked for doctors or comfort in the last year of his life.
‘What news from the city?’ asked Silvia. ‘How does the new Duchessa do?’
‘She is a credit to you both,’ said Leonora. ‘And to me, though I am only an honorary aunt to her.’
Silvia nodded, satisfied. ‘And your husband, the good Doctor?’
‘He is well, as far as I know. But off on his travels at the moment, with Luciano. What a dear boy that is!’
‘And what a comfort to you to have a child to love, so late in your days,’ said Silvia. She spoke from the heart, her own child having been lost to her for more than fifteen years and only lately restored.
‘I know we cannot replace his real parents,’ said Leonora quietly. ‘And he grieves for them so much. But we love him. I do hope he will be safe in Remora,’ she added anxiously.
‘I’m sure he will,’ said Silvia. ‘And he will make sure all is safe for Arianna too. Do you intend to join them for the race?’
‘No, I . . .’ Leonora stopped, seeing the sparkle in her friend’s eye. ‘Silvia! You can’t be thinking of ... It’s much too dangerous.’
‘Why?’ asked Silvia. ‘There will be four Stravaganti there to protect me – not to mention Guido.’
‘But the city will be swarming with di Chimici,’ protested Leonora. ‘You are bound to be recognised!’
‘I don’t see why,’ said Silvia, getting to her feet and walking restlessly up and down the terrace. ‘No one ever recognises me without my mask. You know how often I have been in Bellezza in the last few months. And if they don’t know me there, how much less will they in Remora?’
‘The ambassador would, I’m sure,’ said Leonora. ‘And the Duke.’
‘Then I must just keep out of the way of the Duke and the ambassador, mustn’t I?’ was all that Silvia would say.
*
In a room at the top of a tall palazzo overlooking the canal a man dressed in black was looking into a mirror. But not from vanity. It was not his own lined face and silvered black hair that he saw gazing back at him. It was the much older face and whiter hair of his old friend and master, William Dethridge.
‘Gretynges, Maister Rudolphe!’ said Dethridge. ‘I am righte gladde to know that yore lookinge-glasse workes well here in Remora.’
‘I have not been here the last two days,’ said Rodolfo. ‘It is a relief to know that you are safe. And the boy?’
‘Lykewyse,’ said the Elizabethan. ‘Bot I have mor to telle.’
Rodolfo settled down in his chair to listen.
‘The newe Stravayger has arrived,’ said Dethridge. ‘And yt is a mayde.’
‘A girl?’ asked Rodolfo. ‘And she has come to Signor Paolo?’
‘Aye. Thrice now. She is this daye with his sonne, Cesare, in the toune of Saint Fyne. Master Lucian has gone with them.’
‘Is she safe? Does she understand the dangers? What is her name?’
/>
‘Shee is as saufe as can bee in this nest of vipers,’ said Dethridge, lowering his voice. ‘Young Caesar and Lucian are teching hir whatte they canne about the perils. Hire name is George, or sum sich. The boy knows hir from before.’
‘And what does Paolo say about the city?’ asked Rodolfo. ‘Does he think Arianna should accept the invitation to the race?’
‘Hee says it wolde be a slighte for hir not to come – that the di Chimici wolde use it as an excuse to move againste hire.’
‘What is your thought?’ asked Rodolfo.
‘Wee have notte hadde much tyme for oure investigaytiounes as yet,’ said Dethridge. ‘Give us a little longire and then I will avise ye.’
‘All right,’ said Rodolfo. ‘But I must soon send word to the Duke. I wish I were there in Remora with you. I should like to meet the girl.’
‘Shee lookyth mor lyke unto a ladde, I sholde tell ye,’ added Dethridge. ‘A ladde who loves horsis.’
*
The party in Santa Fina was reluctant to split up. Gaetano wanted the Manoush to come back to his uncle’s palace, Luciano wanted to take them back to Paolo’s and Falco wanted to leave the empty summer palace and follow his brother and the strangers to the city.
‘We do not sleep in houses, thank you,’ said Aurelio. ‘Manoush sleep under the sky. But if you will go with us to collect our bedrolls, we shall travel with you to the city. It is our destination too. And if we can camp in one of your courtyards, whether of the Ram or the Pope, that will suffice us.’
Georgia wondered if Raffaella was quite as keen on all this ‘the Manoush do not do’ so and so business as her companion. She remembered how the tall girl had silently pocketed all the money from Aurelio’s recital and thought that she was probably the more practical of the two. Luciano and Gaetano were now involved in fierce negotiation about who should go where and by what means.
Georgia yawned. It was hard to believe that her other self was asleep in her bed in the world she had come from. Thank goodness she always kept her door locked. Maura hated it but Ralph had said, ‘She’s a teenager. Can’t you remember what that was like?’ and had arranged to have the lock put in.