Gaudenzia

“ 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!" ”

“ He can feel himself growing pale, the skin of his face drawing tight over his cheekbones. A dark-bearded groom is offering his hand as a mounting block, to help him climb aboard the huge warhorse.
Giorgio stiffens. If he can mount Gaudenzia bareback, he can certainly put a foot into a stirrup and swing up without help. But the real stiffening is a feeling he has, not exactly of jealousy, but of concern that someone else is handling Gaudenzia. Will the man know how to soothe, and be firm too, amidst the jostling of people and the throb of drums, and the great race only a whisper of time away? ”

“ 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. ”

“ Out in the street again, a tumultuous wave of humanity surrounds Gaudenzia. People from all walks of life want to touch her, or even the embroidery of her bodycloth. A man still wearing his shepherd's smock wedges himself in close to Giorgio. ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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. ”

“ Giorgio is ready. He has done everything the Chief asked. And more. He has plastered sculptor's clay on Gaudenzia's legs to make them look coarse, like those of any cold-blooded hack. But there is nothing he can do to coarsen her fine, intelligent head.
Out in the shell, a little insect of a man, known as the Spider, climbs his ladder, touches a match to the gunpowder in the cage, and with a thundering bang the trials have begun! Four horses prance out of the palace courtyard. At the starter's signal they take off, leaping over the rope before it touches the earth. ”

“ 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!" ”

“ Giorgio's stomach rose and fell. I will have to tell Babbo "no," he thought. On the calendar I have already fixed the plans for Gaudenzia. She is in training for battle; we cannot stop now.
"Babbo," he said, "every morning I take Gaudenzia to the road that winds round the hills. We walk, and we jog, and then we begin the gallops and...." He broke off as a sudden thought struck him. Instead of working Gaudenzia in the morning, he would plant the trees, and take her out at night. Was not the Palio held at sundown? Why not accustom her to the late hour? ”

“ 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. ”

“ The great historical pageant is about to begin, and he will be in it, and Gaudenzia will be in it. But she will walk riderless, and he will ride a mighty warhorse clad in armor of steel.
Already his contrada is forming into a tight military company—the drummer first, the two flag-bearers next with their enormous blue-and-white flags, and then Captain Tortorelli in coat-of-mail with unsheathed sword, and a major page and four minor pages. And then he, Giorgio, will come on his warhorse, and last of all Gaudenzia, led by her groom. ”

“ 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!" ”

“ Solemnly they made a corridor for her and Giorgio to enter together. The mare must be blessed within the church, for is not the Palio a religious celebration in honor of the Visitation of the Virgin? Is not the blessing of the horse an age-old custom? Then, open wide the doors! Throw out the carpet. Let her enter!
In the perfect stillness, Gaudenzia's hoofbeats are the measured beat of time. Slowly she and Giorgio proceed up the aisle while the congregation breathes a collective sigh at her beauty. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Giorgio whispered, "be thou life for Gaudenzia." He did not realize it was the mare he was praying for, and not himself, so closely were they tuned.
Nine o'clock came. Time for the last Prova, the final rehearsal before the Palio. The day was windless, the sky gray and cloudy, the track still slippery from last night's rain. Giorgio resolved to take no chances. From the start to the finish he held Gaudenzia almost to a parade canter; he must save every tendon and muscle of her legs. She finished in last place. ”

“ The General smiled affably. "The Palio lifts us out of the everyday life," he continued. "We are caught up in the golden net of hope, of ambition, of glory. In four hundred years the magnificent colors of the Wave—blue for the billows and white for the foam—have won thirty-nine victories! Will Gaudenzia and Giorgio make it forty?" ”

“ Strangers and Sienese alike are yelling for Gaudenzia.
Only the Nicchio fans are her enemies. "Knock off her spennacchiera!" they cry to Giorgio. "Knock it off!"
Fifty meters to go! She is holding her own, pounding on, eye to eye with Rosella.
In sickening guilt Giorgio remembers his orders ... lifts his nerbo, aims at her spennacchiera. He misses! He feels the thud of his blow against her neck. She falls back a moment, but immediately comes up again. Desperately aiming higher, he strikes once more. The nerbo draws a line of blood close to her ear, but the spennacchiera holds fast. ”

“ The starter picks up his megaphone, barks out rules and warnings: "Attenzione! It is permissible to ward off your enemy with the nerbo, but never grasp the bridle of an enemy horse. The eyes of the world are upon you. Represent well the spirit of Siena, and of your contrada. Be brave!"
Only a few minutes to go. The barbaresco of Onda carries out his final duties—checks the bridle of Gaudenzia, her cheek-strap, her chinstrap, her reins; last of all her spennacchiera ... is it anchored solidly in case her fantino should fall? ”

“ 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. ”

“ There are so many he dizzies trying to separate them. And all those eyes are asking for the most beautiful Palio in history, and Gaudenzia will give it to them!
The bigness of it all makes him afraid, and then he sees the small boys who have been waiting in the sun since noon, sitting there on the white posts that fence the shell. One looks up, focusing right at Giorgio with his shiny, worshipful eyes, and Giorgio knows he wants to win for him, and he wants to win for all the little colonnini, and for Emilio back home in Monticello, and for little boys everywhere. ”

“ Even in their sheltered life they have many problems. Do you, too, have a problem?"
"Monsignore?"
"Yes, my son."
Giorgio plunged one hand into his pocket and his fingers clutched the thin horseshoe. "Do you have enough time for me? With affairs of state and all?"
"As much as you need. You see," he smiled, "I am in charge of extraordinary affairs, and this just might be an extraordinary affair."
"It is!" Giorgio sat up straighter, and suddenly the flood-gates opened. "Monsignore! In the Palio of August the Contrada of Nicchio might not draw Gaudenzia." ”

“ The months of winter passed, not in days and weeks, but in developing Gaudenzia's wind and stamina. When Giorgio came home each night, mud-spattered and hungry, his mother reheated the soup and stood by as he drank it. One night when his hair was wet with snow, and his jacket sagging and sopping, she cried, "Giorgio, Giorgio, Giorgio, why can't you let up?"
The boy stopped eating. "Mamma, I can't!" he said firmly. "Have you forgot the Palio? Three times around Il Campo is four and a half kilometers. She must go the whole way and still be strong at the finish!" ”

“ In the sugar bowl there is money. Yours and Gaudenzia's," she smiled, "from the victory of Onda." She stopped to pinch off a few faded flowers from the pots in the window. Then she went back to the stove. "There comes a time," she said, turning to look right at Giorgio, "when to make a pilgrimage is necessary for peace of the mind." ”

“ 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. ”

“ Should he offer to clean Gaudenzia's stable tomorrow, and tomorrow?
No, everything was out of his control now. In the next moments he lived a lifetime. No contrada had asked him to be their fantino. Why should they? In two Palios he had not won.
A fight started in the crowd. A young boy from the Dragon and one from the Tower began with friendly roughness, yanking each other's caps, then grabbing contrada scarves, then arms swinging, and fists pummeling. Giorgio wanted to join in, to throw one and then the other flat on the ground. Anything would be better than having nothing to do. ”

“ There was a pause as the coffees came and he liberally spooned sugar into both cups. "Because all the contradas think her nervous, unpredictable, none will ask for agreement from you to help another horse to win."
Giorgio sighed in deep relief. "Of that I am glad. When I am on Gaudenzia I am simpatico only to her. But why is it no one has ever come to me to make the secret agreement?"
The Chief could not help chuckling. "'The runt of Monticello', they say, 'is young and green like new spear of wheat. ”