City of Stars (9 page)

*

In a little square behind the church cloisters a young man sat playing a harp. He had straight black hair falling below his shoulders and an expression of intense concentration. He played without reference to any written notes and a small crowd had gathered around him, drawn by the purity of the melody. A young woman stood at his shoulder and, as soon as the last cascade of notes had reverberated to an end and the applause began, she moved briskly among the listeners, holding an old green velvet hat, which soon grew heavy with silver.

Three young men on the edge of the crowd, all wearing the red and yellow colours of the Reman Ram, dug into their pockets. On the other side of the square, two others, more richly dressed, who had only just arrived, asked the woman if the harpist would play again. The younger of those two had a twisted leg and leaned heavily on two sticks.

She went and bent over the young man, who sat with his eyes closed, oblivious of the people gathered around him.

‘Aurelio,' she whispered. ‘Will you play some more? There is an injured boy who wants to hear you.'

The young man nodded, opened his eyes and put his hands back on the strings. Everyone in the square fell silent, even the two men drinking outside a bar in the far corner.

Aurelio paused a moment and then played an even more beautiful piece of music. All the listeners in the square were entranced. For Cesare it stirred visions of riding Arcangelo to victory, carrying the banner of the Stellata to the cheers of his Twelfth. For Luciano the music brought back memories of his mother and long evenings of his childhood. For Georgia, it told hauntingly of unrequited love and lost idylls.

For Gaetano, it conjured up a vision of female beauty – an amalgam of the cousin Francesca he remembered and the Bellezzan Duchessa he imagined. For Falco, it was as if he really had been transported to a higher existence. It was a day he would remember for the rest of his life. His brother had returned to him, he had ridden a horse again, tasted anew La Mandragola's granita and now he was listening to the sounds of heaven. After two years his life had begun again.

Even Enrico was not unmoved. ‘It reminds me of my Giuliana,' he whispered to Diego, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. ‘Lost to me for ever.' Even Diego felt sentimental. He had no girlfriend, but if he had, he would have been thinking of her now.

The spell lasted a full minute after Aurelio had stopped playing. This time the hat was even more full of coins. Gaetano spoke to the young woman, who brought him over to the harpist, now sitting very still with his arms hanging at his sides. The majority of the crowd, seeing that there was to be no more music, started to drift away.

But the three of the Ram stayed as if mesmerised.

‘That was sublime,' said Gaetano. ‘I hope you'll come and play for my uncle.' He took a seal-ring from his finger and gave it to the silent musician. ‘Present this at the Papal palace in Remora at any time and I shall have you and your companion treated like royalty.'

Cesare clutched Luciano's arm. ‘Di Chimici,' he hissed. The spell was broken.

‘Or if you prefer, come to the Duke's palace in Giglia in the summer,' Gaetano was saying. ‘He is my father and he could make your reputation.'

‘Perhaps you would like to come to Bellezza instead,' said Luciano, stepping forward. Georgia was surprised. He was now no longer the dreamy-eyed boy she knew, but a wealthy courtier, prepared to go head to head with one of the sinister di Chimici.

‘The Duchessa would love to hear your music, I know,' Luciano continued. ‘I am apprenticed to her Regent and father, Senator Rossi, and I am sure that he would approve of my invitation.'

The harpist got to his feet and the young woman took the ring from him. He was very tall.

‘I thank you both,' he said to Gaetano and Luciano. ‘But I play for no one but myself. I do not care about reputation or money.'

Cesare looked pointedly at the velvet hat, but the glance was lost on Aurelio. As he turned his face indiscriminately towards them, they understood that his dark blue eyes were unseeing. He put out his hand to the young woman, who prepared to lead him from the square. She had intercepted Cesare's glance and now put her finger to her lips.

Georgia understood in an instant that Aurelio did not know about the collection and that the young woman – his sister? his girlfriend? – did not want him to know.

‘Don't go,' said Gaetano. ‘I didn't mean to offend you. Will you come back with us to our palazzo to take some refreshment, at least?'

Aurelio was silent, but turned his head to the young woman as if waiting to see what she thought.

‘There are places nearer at hand for refreshment,' said Luciano firmly. ‘I should be honoured if you would be my guests.' He didn't know why he was so drawn to this musician but he wasn't going to stand by and see him carried off by the di Chimici.

Luciano and Gaetano stood glaring at each other beside the blind musician and his helper. Falco had come hobbling over to them. With Georgia and Cesare, the young people now made quite a knot in the middle of the square.

‘I should be glad of food and drink, Raffaella,' said Aurelio.

Raffaella had transferred the silver and the di Chimici seal-ring to a purse at her waist and now put the hat in Aurelio's hand.

‘Then let one of these kind gentlemen buy it for you,' she said.

‘I should be happier if they both did so,' said Aurelio. ‘When two contenders are balked of the same prize, they may become friends.' He crushed the velvet hat on to his black hair, oblivious of the effect his words had created.

‘Now there's something you see only when a Pope dies,' said Enrico to his new friend. ‘Once in a blue moon.'

‘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.