The Daughter of Siena (2 page)
The Palio.
A year of planning, ten men, ten horses, three circuits of the piazza, and all of it over in one single moment.
No outsider could conceive of – let alone understand – what the Palio meant to the Sienese. That they ate it, breathed it, slept it. That they prayed to their saints for victory every day, the year round. That all their loyalties, their colours and their
contrade
proceeded from the Palio, as the web radiates from the spider. The concentric circles of their customs and society originated from this piazza and this day, and this smallest circle of all – the racetrack. Scattered with the dust of tufa stone hewn from the Tuscan hills, run by Sienese-born men on Sienese-bred horses, right under the ancient palaces and towers of the old city. The Palio was the centre; the Palio was Siena. To know this was to know all.
contrade
proceeded from the Palio, as the web radiates from the spider. The concentric circles of their customs and society originated from this piazza and this day, and this smallest circle of all – the racetrack. Scattered with the dust of tufa stone hewn from the Tuscan hills, run by Sienese-born men on Sienese-bred horses, right under the ancient palaces and towers of the old city. The Palio was the centre; the Palio was Siena. To know this was to know all.
On the second day of July 1723, Siena was punishingly hot. But, despite the heat, the numbers assembled to catch a glimpse of the Palio di Provenzano seemed greater than ever. On other days the beauteous shell-shaped Piazza del Campo lay as serene and empty as a Saint Jacques scallop, but today it was crammed with a thousand Sienese, drumming their drums and waving their flags. Every other place in the city was empty: every street, every courtyard, every dwelling, church and alehouse. The courtrooms were deserted, the apothecaries closed. The bankers had put away their tables and the tailors had pulled down their blinds. At the hospital-church of Santa Maria Maddalena the sisters instructed the orderlies to carry their patients in litters to the piazza. Even the starlings gathered to watch the Palio in the hot blue circle of sky high over the track. They wheeled around the tower-tops, to gather in smoky clouds and break apart again, dissipating like ink in water, all the time screeching with excitement.
Everyone had their role on this day of days, from the greatest degree to the least. At the very top, on the balcony of the great Palazzo Pubblico, with its crenellations of terracotta teeth and tall clock tower, stood the governess of the city. Duchess Violante Beatrix de’ Medici, fifty and plain with it, presided over the race with great dignity and grace, as she had done for ten years now since the death of her husband.
Below her the
capitani
, the captains of the
contrade,
were in final clandestine counsel with their deputies. These were the greybeards, the chiefs of their families;
silver heads bent close as they discussed their final pacts and
partiti
. Their faces, weathered and lined, had seen it all, and they knew the city and her ways.
capitani
, the captains of the
contrade,
were in final clandestine counsel with their deputies. These were the greybeards, the chiefs of their families;
silver heads bent close as they discussed their final pacts and
partiti
. Their faces, weathered and lined, had seen it all, and they knew the city and her ways.
The
fantini
, the jockeys, dressed in silks of colour so bright that they stung the eye, were being given their
nerbi
whips, vicious lengths of stretched oxhide, which they would shortly use not only on their horses but on each other. These young men, the flower of Sienese youth, were alive with tension, their black eyes glittering, their muscles taut. Fights, both verbal and physical, broke out in little volcanic pockets along their lines. To a man they had abstained from the pleasures of their wives and lovers for weeks now, to prepare in body and mind for the race.
fantini
, the jockeys, dressed in silks of colour so bright that they stung the eye, were being given their
nerbi
whips, vicious lengths of stretched oxhide, which they would shortly use not only on their horses but on each other. These young men, the flower of Sienese youth, were alive with tension, their black eyes glittering, their muscles taut. Fights, both verbal and physical, broke out in little volcanic pockets along their lines. To a man they had abstained from the pleasures of their wives and lovers for weeks now, to prepare in body and mind for the race.
Ill-disguised betting syndicates signalled across the crowd in their secret ciphers, street sellers brought skins of wine or dried meats to those who had been in this square since sunrise, canny fan sellers sold paper fans in the
contrada
colours to their members. The Palio band repeated obsessively the solemn notes of the Palio anthem, a task they would not leave off now until tomorrow’s dawn, each musician sure of his harmony and his counterpoint.
contrada
colours to their members. The Palio band repeated obsessively the solemn notes of the Palio anthem, a task they would not leave off now until tomorrow’s dawn, each musician sure of his harmony and his counterpoint.
Even tiny children flew the bright flags of their
contrada
, trying to emulate their older brothers, those princes of swagger the
alfieri
, who, in the main parade, tossed their larger flags so high and so skilfully. The little orphan boy and water-carrier known as Zebra – so-called because he wore the black-and-white colours of the city, not of any
contrada
, showing allegiance to no one and
everyone – trotted busily back and forth, bringing wooden goblets for the thirsty in exchange for coin, sure-footed of mission and purpose.
contrada
, trying to emulate their older brothers, those princes of swagger the
alfieri
, who, in the main parade, tossed their larger flags so high and so skilfully. The little orphan boy and water-carrier known as Zebra – so-called because he wore the black-and-white colours of the city, not of any
contrada
, showing allegiance to no one and
everyone – trotted busily back and forth, bringing wooden goblets for the thirsty in exchange for coin, sure-footed of mission and purpose.
The horses too, mere dumb beasts, circled in readiness. Their bridles were bright with streamers, their manes woven with ribbons, their saddles hung with pennants. They were led in rein but knew that they would soon be loosed to race, and must win for the colours that they bore.
Pia of the Tolomei felt lowlier than all of these. As a betrothed woman she was not afforded the respect that she had known when she was a marriage prize – a renowned beauty to be bargained for and bartered over by the well-to-do families of the Civetta. She was now merely a spectator, required to cheer for her betrothed and nothing more. But Pia of the Tolomei had no intention of fulfilling that role. Yes, she was going to watch her betrothed ride in the Palio, but she would not be cheering for him. Pia of the Tolomei would be praying that during the course of it he would be killed.
For tonight she was to be wed to Vicenzo Caprimulgo in the basilica. For the last time she was wearing the red and black of the Civetta
contrada.
Her bruises were hidden under a girdle in the same Owlet colours around her handspan waist and her lustrous black hair was piled high under her hat. She was seated, as she had been for the last nineteen summers and thirty-eight Palios, on the elevated benches of the Owlet
contrada
next to her father. Mindful of this position, this upbringing and her aching ribs, Pia was trying not to cry, for by the next Palio, the
Palio dell’Assunta in August, Pia would be sitting across the square, as Vicenzo’s wife, wearing the black-and-gold plumage of the Eagles. She would graduate up the order of birds of prey to the very top.
contrada.
Her bruises were hidden under a girdle in the same Owlet colours around her handspan waist and her lustrous black hair was piled high under her hat. She was seated, as she had been for the last nineteen summers and thirty-eight Palios, on the elevated benches of the Owlet
contrada
next to her father. Mindful of this position, this upbringing and her aching ribs, Pia was trying not to cry, for by the next Palio, the
Palio dell’Assunta in August, Pia would be sitting across the square, as Vicenzo’s wife, wearing the black-and-gold plumage of the Eagles. She would graduate up the order of birds of prey to the very top.
All about her she could feel the mounting excitement, almost palpable, like a current of air or a haze of heat, but she felt completely outside of it. Pia had been born in Siena and had scarcely been outside the city. Tuscany had a coast but she had never seen the sea. Yet despite her hermetic existence in her
contrada
, her nineteen years bound by the city walls, today for the first time she felt that she did not belong. By reason of her betrothal she was no longer an Owlet but was not yet an Eagle; she was an odd, vestigial, avian genus. An aberration.
contrada
, her nineteen years bound by the city walls, today for the first time she felt that she did not belong. By reason of her betrothal she was no longer an Owlet but was not yet an Eagle; she was an odd, vestigial, avian genus. An aberration.
In Siena every citizen was a product of their
contrada
. Their identity began with their ward and ended where the Dragon
contrada
became the She-Wolf, or the Unicorn became the Tower. Pia was familiar with the colours of each ward or
contrada
from the red-and-blue of the Panther to the yellow-and-green of the Caterpillar. And twice a year these divisions of geography and hue assumed an even greater significance.
contrada
. Their identity began with their ward and ended where the Dragon
contrada
became the She-Wolf, or the Unicorn became the Tower. Pia was familiar with the colours of each ward or
contrada
from the red-and-blue of the Panther to the yellow-and-green of the Caterpillar. And twice a year these divisions of geography and hue assumed an even greater significance.
In a few short hours the bitterness of loss would settle like a pall over the losing
contrada
and delirious joy would infect every soul in the winning ward. Vicenzo, she knew, would give anything to win today. In the horse draw, which took place some days before the race, he had drawn Berio, a big, handsome bay whispered to be the fastest horse in Tuscany, the horse that every
contrada
prayed to draw. As Vicenzo was reputed to be the fastest
rider in the city, his chances were very good. And if he did win, thought Pia, how would his triumph manifest itself in their marriage chamber? Only this race, lasting three score and ten heartbeats, could prolong the life of her maidenhead. She shuddered.
contrada
and delirious joy would infect every soul in the winning ward. Vicenzo, she knew, would give anything to win today. In the horse draw, which took place some days before the race, he had drawn Berio, a big, handsome bay whispered to be the fastest horse in Tuscany, the horse that every
contrada
prayed to draw. As Vicenzo was reputed to be the fastest
rider in the city, his chances were very good. And if he did win, thought Pia, how would his triumph manifest itself in their marriage chamber? Only this race, lasting three score and ten heartbeats, could prolong the life of her maidenhead. She shuddered.
Pia sat forward in an attempt to engage herself in the spectacle below. She watched as the horses and riders circled the track, following the Civetta colours out of habit, when her eye was caught by a lone horseman. He was walking his mount slowly, and with complete control, through the Bocca del Casato gate, the arch of the architrave framing him like a painted angel.
The horseman was a stranger to Pia. He was also the most beautiful living human she had ever seen. He had the olive skin of the region, a full mouth set in a stern and concentrated line but with the promise of softness. He had dark curling hair caught in the pigtail fashion of the day with a ribbon of the Torre colours of the Tower
contrada.
His eyes were dark and his features those of antique statuary – sculpted marble perfection. His form was well proportioned and muscular, his legs long and his hands gentle on the horse. But there was more too: he seemed noble. If nobility were to do with the new science of physiognomy rather than birth, reflected Pia, then he should be sitting on the palace balcony above her head, not the homely duchess.
contrada.
His eyes were dark and his features those of antique statuary – sculpted marble perfection. His form was well proportioned and muscular, his legs long and his hands gentle on the horse. But there was more too: he seemed noble. If nobility were to do with the new science of physiognomy rather than birth, reflected Pia, then he should be sitting on the palace balcony above her head, not the homely duchess.
Pia had escaped into books for the whole of her childhood and despite Vicenzo’s violence yesterday she still believed in courtly love – perhaps now even more so. But she did not immediately cast the stranger in the role of all
the Tristans, Lancelots and Rolands of whom she had read. She was too much of a realist to imagine that anyone high-born loved where they married.
the Tristans, Lancelots and Rolands of whom she had read. She was too much of a realist to imagine that anyone high-born loved where they married.
She did, however, allow herself to wonder, just for a moment, how it would feel if she was betrothed to that unknown horseman and not Vicenzo. Better yet, if only he could ride for her as her champion, that courtly ideal of centuries ago, with none of the very real and physical threats that marriage promised. She would not have to touch him, nor even meet him. Touch, she now knew, was dangerous. To yearn at a blessed distance: that would be the thing. What would it be like, she wondered idly, to sit in her loge, watching that horseman ride for
her
, with perhaps some token of her favour hanging about his neck or twisted in his horse’s mane?
her
, with perhaps some token of her favour hanging about his neck or twisted in his horse’s mane?
When the unknown horseman dismounted with the other jockeys to pay the traditional tribute to the duchess, he stood next to Vicenzo. In an apt allegory for his
contrada
the horseman of the Torre towered over his rival from the Eagle ward. Vicenzo did not, Pia reflected, compare well. The
fantini
, the jockeys, lined up below Duchess Violante’s balcony, each one eyeing her with matching insolence, in a pantomime of resistance to the Medici overlords that had been enacted for ten years now, ever since the duchess had come to the city.
contrada
the horseman of the Torre towered over his rival from the Eagle ward. Vicenzo did not, Pia reflected, compare well. The
fantini
, the jockeys, lined up below Duchess Violante’s balcony, each one eyeing her with matching insolence, in a pantomime of resistance to the Medici overlords that had been enacted for ten years now, ever since the duchess had come to the city.
All save one.
The unknown horseman alone of the pack slid his tricorne from his head and fixed his eyes to the ground with something akin to respect for the duchess’s sex, if not for her rank. Pia’s heart warmed a little, but chilled again
when she turned her eyes on her betrothed. Vicenzo was peering up at the duchess with marked insolence. He had not removed his tricorne. How she
hated
him, Pia thought. This tiny thing, that he could not remove his hat for a lady – this elementary lack of good breeding – invited her contempt almost more than the outrages he had visited on her last night.
when she turned her eyes on her betrothed. Vicenzo was peering up at the duchess with marked insolence. He had not removed his tricorne. How she
hated
him, Pia thought. This tiny thing, that he could not remove his hat for a lady – this elementary lack of good breeding – invited her contempt almost more than the outrages he had visited on her last night.
Next to Vicenzo stood his father. Faustino Caprimulgo, captain of the Eagle
contrada,
was tall and wiry, dark and swarthy of feature but with the whitest hair curled in a close cap to his head. His high cheekbones, cavernous cheeks and long, hooked nose made him resemble nothing so much as the eagle of his banner. Faustino always stood drawn up to his full height, an eagle in his eyrie, with the confidence that came from being the head of the oldest family in Siena. Despite the pomp and posturing of the Medici, all of Siena knew that in reality it was the Caprimulgi who ruled the city. They had ruled it in the days of the Nine – the ruling council of the old republic – and ruled it in all but name still. The son stood shoulder to shoulder with his father, fixing the duchess with the same hawklike stare, a merlin beside a falcon, a smaller, meaner version of the sire.
contrada,
was tall and wiry, dark and swarthy of feature but with the whitest hair curled in a close cap to his head. His high cheekbones, cavernous cheeks and long, hooked nose made him resemble nothing so much as the eagle of his banner. Faustino always stood drawn up to his full height, an eagle in his eyrie, with the confidence that came from being the head of the oldest family in Siena. Despite the pomp and posturing of the Medici, all of Siena knew that in reality it was the Caprimulgi who ruled the city. They had ruled it in the days of the Nine – the ruling council of the old republic – and ruled it in all but name still. The son stood shoulder to shoulder with his father, fixing the duchess with the same hawklike stare, a merlin beside a falcon, a smaller, meaner version of the sire.
Pia watched as the war chariot of the Palio drew up alongside the palace, drawn by four milk-white oxen carrying the Palio itself – a vast black-and-white banner in the colours of the city, emblazoned with the figures of the Virgin and the pope. Attendants folded and handed the flag to last year’s victor, Ghiberti Conto, captain of the Snail
contrada
, who knocked three times and was
admitted to the palace doors. Moments later he appeared on the balcony next to the duchess and gave up the banner to her. The duchess took it with a nod – custodian for a few short moments before she would give it to this year’s victor. Pia, without feeling the slightest disloyalty, reached for the coin of the Owlet where it hung around her neck and prayed that the winner would be the unknown horseman and not Vicenzo.
contrada
, who knocked three times and was
admitted to the palace doors. Moments later he appeared on the balcony next to the duchess and gave up the banner to her. The duchess took it with a nod – custodian for a few short moments before she would give it to this year’s victor. Pia, without feeling the slightest disloyalty, reached for the coin of the Owlet where it hung around her neck and prayed that the winner would be the unknown horseman and not Vicenzo.
Pia sat forward and searched for the horseman in the Tower colours among the other jockeys below at the
canapi
starting ropes, all detachment gone. She saw the
fantini
whisper to each other from the sides of their mouths, last-minute threats or promises, as their bright silks whispered too. At this moment pacts were being made or broken as vast amounts of money changed hands. The other horses were circling and bumping shoulders; one reared and threw its rider – the green-and-white Oca colours of the Goose
contrada
, she noted, not he.
canapi
starting ropes, all detachment gone. She saw the
fantini
whisper to each other from the sides of their mouths, last-minute threats or promises, as their bright silks whispered too. At this moment pacts were being made or broken as vast amounts of money changed hands. The other horses were circling and bumping shoulders; one reared and threw its rider – the green-and-white Oca colours of the Goose
contrada
, she noted, not he.
She realized that the stranger must have been drawn as the
di rincorsa
rider in the outside position at the ropes, and so it proved. He rode to the cord later than the others, but seemed to have no interest in the benefits of his good fortune. Usually the
di rincorsa
position was used to an unscrupulous jockey’s advantage, to jostle rival
contrade
into a bad position at the start. But Pia saw him, seated absolutely still on his horse’s bare back, speaking to no one, his eyes seeing far into the distance, making no attempt to jostle or harry. His stallion also stood unmoving amid the mêlée, the pair resembling in their stillness
the bronzes of the mounted Cosimo the Great that she had seen on her one and only trip to Florence. Pia willed him to beat Vicenzo with a violence that surprised her, her eyes boring into his broad back, staring so hard at the blue-and-burgundy silks that they blurred.
di rincorsa
rider in the outside position at the ropes, and so it proved. He rode to the cord later than the others, but seemed to have no interest in the benefits of his good fortune. Usually the
di rincorsa
position was used to an unscrupulous jockey’s advantage, to jostle rival
contrade
into a bad position at the start. But Pia saw him, seated absolutely still on his horse’s bare back, speaking to no one, his eyes seeing far into the distance, making no attempt to jostle or harry. His stallion also stood unmoving amid the mêlée, the pair resembling in their stillness
the bronzes of the mounted Cosimo the Great that she had seen on her one and only trip to Florence. Pia willed him to beat Vicenzo with a violence that surprised her, her eyes boring into his broad back, staring so hard at the blue-and-burgundy silks that they blurred.
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