Marguerite Henry

“ And then Giorgio overheard, "Would you wish to draw her for your contrada?"
A whole chorus answered, "No! No!" It was as if her tortured limping in last year's Palio was a memory too fresh to be wiped out.
Giorgio himself flinched at the recollection. He touched his heels to Gaudenzia and hurried her through the crowd. "How they feel about you, I do not care," he told himself. "It is better so. Popular horses are nearly killed by too many sweets, too much petting and pulling of tail-hairs for souvenir. I believe, and the Chief believes!" ”

“ And he could not use the reply he had rehearsed awake and asleep: "Signore, I am honored deeply to ride in the Palio for your contrada."
When the day of August the sixteenth came and the bell in the Mangia Tower began tolling, Giorgio forgot he was man-grown. With all his clothes on, even his high-laced country boots, he went to bed like a child and pulled the covers up over his head. But still he could hear the bell, sonorous and deep; could see the pageant unfold in his mind, telling the beads of history. The solemn tolling went on and on. ”

“ And now the last spaces in the racks filling in, irrevocably:
"Farfalla to the Forest."
"Turbolento to Nicchio, the Shell."
Giorgio was too stunned to move. In minutes, the Goddess Fortuna had knocked down his hopes as if they were toy blocks. He watched the members of the Forest lead Farfalla away to their stable. And he let the people of the Shell push him along with them to surround the dark bay, Turbolento. He was glad for the jostling crowd, and the deafening noise—the happy shrieks, and the wails of the disappointed ones. ”

“ Give us the Palio!"
And around for the third time she battles Montone, who is making one last desperate effort to catch up. But he is no match for Gaudenzia. Not weaving, not wobbling, moving at a terrific pace, she goes the whole lap. As she flashes by the flag of arrival, Giorgio wildly waves his nerbo in victory. He has not used it before!
With roars of triumph, the Onda victors spill out upon the track, hug their hero, lift him up, carry him on their shoulders. Angry losers close in, to pinch and pull and buffet him. ”

“ And under the banner and the sweeping arc of lights, and under the flags flying, and the flowers cascading from windows and balconies, hundreds of tables were laid with snowy-white cloths. But no one was seated. People were milling about, milling and singing and shouting.
Giorgio suddenly found himself pulled into their midst, and friends and strangers alike were pumping his hand and slapping his back and saluting him on both cheeks. General Barbarulli stood laughing at his bewilderment. He beckoned him to the head table, for coming up a side street was Gaudenzia with her barbaresco. ”

“ The whistles and the shouts are strong. "Up with Montone! Up with Montone! Up with Ivan!"
"Istrice, the Porcupine, eight!
"Giraffa, nine!"
The nine wait tensely for the final call. Giorgio tries to conceal his joy. He will be number ten! He knows the rules, revels in them. The number ten horse starts behind the others. With a rush she will come up to the rope and trigger the race.
The starter raises his megaphone. His voice shrills: "Number ten, Onda! Come on!"
Giorgio's heart beats with a wild gladness. Now it is! The time for action! He lifts Gaudenzia's head; she leaps forward. ”

“ An umbrella! Suddenly the face of the Umbrella Man loomed in front of him, and in spite of his terror he felt strength welling up in him. Now he wanted to talk.
"Signori of the Wave!" he began in a voice that had an odd kind of dignity in it. "Gaudenzia and I, we were both reared in the Maremma, and we fit well to each other. Tomorrow we go into battle together. Fear does not choke our courage. For us it is not victory or defeat. We think only the one thought—"
"Vic-to-ry! Vic-to-ry! Viva Giorgio!" ”

“ The rope drops at the split instant she touches it. It rolls free, coiling up on itself, almost onto her pasterns. As it falls to the track, ten horses are off like gunshot, Gaudenzia in the lead!
With Montone hot on her heels, she travels fast in spite of the sticky track. Landmarks spin by—the Fonte Gaia, the casino of the nobles, the palaces of Saracini and Sansedoni. Giorgio sucks in all the air his lungs can hold. Ahead lies the sharp right-angle turn of San Martino, the waiting ambulance in plain sight. ”

“ Everything was quiet, except for Pippa's teeth grinding the grain to a mealy mush.
At last Giorgio nodded soberly and replied in a voice he hardly knew as his own. "Grazie, Signor Ramalli, I will ride for you."
Across the donkey's back man and boy shook hands.
"In Siena," Signor Ramalli smiled, "each contrada has 'protectors.' Do you know what they are, my boy?" He waited for an answer, but when none came he went on. "A protector is a person who believes in the people of a certain contrada and does all he can to help them; he offers friendship, advice, and money, too. It is a kind of kinship." ”

“ At the very first curve one horse falls, skids across the track like a slab of ice. The crowd screams as the horse scrambles to his feet. He will be rejected. It is Fate.
Another group is called. No falls this time, but the horses are not evenly matched. They straggle along like knots on a string.
And still another group, while Gaudenzia waits. She listens to the hoofbeats. Flecks of foam come out on her body. Her whole being asks: Why are we not out there with the others? She whinnies out after them. Giorgio lays quieting hands on her, soothes them along her neck and withers. ”

“ But when the time came, there was no whispering; only the bold pronouncement that Giorgio Terni, known as Vittorino, was official fantino for Nicchio.
At half past two in the afternoon the embers of his hope flickered again as the Captain strode into Giorgio's room.
"Vittorino!" the name slow-spoken as in the dream, and the syllables far apart, like drops of rain when the storm begins.
Now it comes. Now he will say: "You, Vittorino, must give help to Gaudenzia. The others you will block. With the nerbo you will fight them fiercely, hinder them." The boy holds his breath. ”

“ Giorgio began to shake all over. The Captain was making a half turn toward him, was facing him now, speaking to him, and the force of his breath caused the hairs on Giorgio's head to quiver. "Fate is Queen of the Palio!" the voice rolled on. "We can prepare for victory, morally and materially, but never certainly. Only Fate and the fantino can decide between victory and defeat.
"Some tasks," he concluded, "need a big man. Others, a small one. Some fantinos are big and strong, but some are bird-light and think more of their mount than of their own safety. Giorgio Terni, you are such a one." ”

“ Giorgio remembered later that he had noticed Ivan was unhurt only after he had made sure about Farfalla!
"Which horse is it you ride?" an elderly man of the Forest whispered to Giorgio after the third Prova. "Is it your Turbolento, or is it our Farfalla?" And he winked and nudged him in the ribs as if he wished the boy could be their fantino.
Quickly Giorgio's bodyguards closed in, wondering if the man were making some secret offer. But they might have saved themselves the trouble, for neither Turbolento nor Giorgio was considered strong enough to win—or to help anyone else to win. ”

“ More often she lipped the back of his sweater, in the way a dam gently nibbles along the neck of her colt.
Giorgio lived all day—digging and planting—for the night. He might have been sticking faggots in the earth for all he knew. His mind was everywhere else: on the calendar in the stable, taking the curves of the mountain, putting on his helmet for the race. Trumpets and drums beat like blood in his ears. Unconsciously he began whistling the "March of the Palio." It made Babbo and all the other men work better, happier. ”

“ Each year, for seven hundred years, she is celebrating the Victory of Montaperti. Even the gold battle car is there in the parade. And the people watch in awe, remembering their blood is the blood of their fathers shed to win that battle."
"But the race! The race!" Giorgio insisted.
"All right! All right! When the parade is over, a bomb explodes bang! And out come the horses wearing the bright colors of their contradas. Away they go like quiver of arrows shot all at once. Around the town square—one time, two times, three times! And the fantinos who ride them sit bareback. ”

“ For endless seconds she is unpredictable. Then she rears up, savagely rakes the air, deliberately tosses her fantino! She's free! With a wild spurt she tries to catch Giorgio. The duel between horse and man is on!
"Attento! Attento!" Nicchio fans are screaming in frenzy, imploring Giorgio: "Give it to us! Give us the Palio!"
But who knows the mind of a horse? Is some inner urge compelling Gaudenzia to spend all of her fleetness and blood? Is the thunder and ecstasy of the crowd like fierce music in her ears? ”

“ It is strong like marching music. Gau-den-zia," he repeated softly, lingering over each syllable. "Joy-of-living. You like?"
"I like!"
The Chief squared his shoulders. "From this very moment," he said, "the destiny of the mare changes. She will get a new name, a new life!"
"Gau-den-zia, Gaudenzia." Slowly Giorgio tested it on his tongue. The happiness was almost beyond bearing.
"That Uncle Marco," chuckled the Chief, "did he not save you the price of the umbrella? Who could hold the umbrella on horseback? It is only for sultan of the desert, not for warrior of the Palio!" ”

“ It is history! It is religion! All year long the Palio is a fire banked. Then it stirs; it blazes; it comes like flames sweeping down the centuries. Oh, how beautiful the faces light up and the voices sing and the banners wave!" He closed his eyes to see it all the better, and the quiet was like an intermission, only no one stirred.
Giorgio waited in a torment of suspense until at last he had to break through. "But Uncle Marco! Speak of the race! Please!"
The man shook off his trance. "I enter into that now." He shivered in excitement. "First comes the story parade. Is it a common parade?" ”

“ The Snail and the Wave are heading crazedly for a crash. They collide! Two fantinos are spewed into the air, go rolling ahead like tumbleweeds. Gaudenzia's rider pulls her back, swerves her sharp around the bodies. She's in first place!
Coming up from behind, Giorgio snakes Rosella between the riderless horses, takes the curve, catches Gaudenzia on the straightaway, passes her.
Did her nostrils pull in his scent as he went by? Did her ears pull in his voice? If not, why is she jibbing her head; why is she weaving at the lesser curve of the Casato? Tiring? She can't be! ”

“ Yes, Babbo, I will go with you. We will plant the trees together."
Later that day the father proudly told the townfolk, "That Giorgio of mine, he makes of Gaudenzia no morning glory! Horses has time-clocks in their heads. The morning bloomers wilt by noon. Oh, that boy, he thinks like the four-footed!"
As the days grew shorter, the workouts grew longer, more intense. Long walks with little jogs gave way to long jogs with little walks. By starlight, by moonlight, the white mare rounded the curves of Mount Amiata like some floating phantom of the night. ”

“ He tries again. "Giorgio, I have made her coat damp. It will help you stick on. Now, run the best race of your life." He unties her from the iron ring. "Here, she is yours. I have done all I can. Now rules Fate, the Queen of the Palio."
Giorgio takes the reins and studies the mare from pricked ears to tail. Her neck is frosted with foam, her nostrils distended, her eyes darkly intent. He does not answer the groom. He has just himself to answer. ”

“ A strange, deep voice commanded: "Hold there, Giorgio! Let up! Street fighting is for boys. You face the real battle, the battle of the Palio."
Giorgio looked into the eyes of a gentleman. At once he recognized the man. He had just seen him on the platform with all the officials. "You!" he gulped for air. "You are General Barbarulli, leader of the Onda!"
The General smiled. Then he linked his arm into Giorgio's, and above the din spoke into his ear: "The Chief-of-the-Town-Guards tells me it is you who trained Gaudenzia." ”

“ Nice strong legs to race over the cobble streets of Siena. With a colt by Sans Souci he hoped to win a Palio. Better that horse doctor never came!"
With a flirt of her tail, the foal tried a step, and fell down in a fuzzy heap.
The farmer winced, almost as if he heard a leg snap and break. "Spindle legs have no place in Palio," he snorted. "And for sure I cannot use such a skinny beast in farm work. Better the hand of death had taken her. Farfalla," he laughed bitterly. "She will live only the short and useless life of the butterfly." ”