The Warring States (The Wave Trilogy) (29 page)

Uggeri tipped his cambellotto respectfully to Donna Bombelli. ‘What’s the situation, boss?’

‘Waiting to see who blinks,’ Sofia said. ‘Your job—’

‘Do nothing. I know.’

‘Keep your flag up. As long as the magnates see flags behind the Small People, they won’t push it.’

‘Levi wouldn’t let them,’ Uggeri said doubtfully.

‘Levi’s podesta; he must do what the gonfaloniere orders.’ She glanced at Donna Bombelli. ‘I know Fabbro doesn’t want violence, but the other priors … Just keep it cool, Uggeri.’

He leaned back. ‘Got it, boss.’

Sofia led Donna Bombelli back to Tower Bombelli. She was, at heart, an old-fashioned Rasenneisi – the palazzo was a place of business, a place to greet the world – but all she wanted now was the privacy of her tower. Sofia had to help her up the ladder to the first floor; towers were designed for security, not for heavily pregnant women. Since Palazzo Bombelli was finished, Fabbro’s old counting room in the tower had been used for storage. The camphor bags hanging from the roof had grown stale and dust covered the rusted scales on the old banco.

‘I don’t feel like climbing any more steps, Sofia.’

‘You all right? You’ve gone pale.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, I’m not a— Oh! Sofia, oh!’

She sat down clumsily on a pile of silks, smiling as if she’d been caught in a lie. ‘It’s coming!’

Sofia grabbed her hand and kissed it. She cleared a space on the floor, piled up some wool bags and covered them with fabric to create a little nest for Donna Bombelli to rest in. She laid her down gently and started tearing linen strips. ‘I expect Fabbro will make me pay for these?’

Donna Bombelli laughed. ‘Only if it’s a girl.’

‘Where’s Maddalena?’

Donna Bombelli pointed upstairs. ‘Nobody told her the banquet’s been cancelled. She’s probably still getting ready. She likes to make an entrance.’

Sofia bounded up the ladder, lifted the trapdoor that led to the central stairway and shouted. From a few stories up, a pale, pretty face appeared, ‘What do
you
want?’

‘Maddalena, get down here.’

‘Excuse
me
, I—’

‘It’s your mother!’

‘It’s time? Oh, of all the nights!’

Maddalena marched down the stairs, pushing one servant ahead of her while another followed, fiddling with her elaborately coiled hairdo. She was dressed sumptuously in a yellow gown inlaid with tiny ivory buttons. She swished her dress experimentally as she climbed down, crying aloud, ‘Better not be another false start, Mama!’

When she reached the last step, she recoiled at the scene. She pulled her gown away from the floor. ‘Mama, what a mess! Is that natural?’

Sofia kept tearing linens as she said briskly, ‘Maddalena, find your father, tell him what’s happening. You, Francesca, go to the baptistery and fetch Sister Isabella.’

‘But we haven’t even thought of a name yet, have we, Mama?’

‘For once, don’t make a scene,’ Sofia hissed. She turned to the other servant. ‘Angela, fetch three basins of water from the cisterns and heat them. Then clean this up, and keep cleaning if you have to.’

Donna Bombelli called Sofia’s name like a frightened sleeper. ‘Don’t leave me.’

‘I’m here.’

The hand pouring the water was shaking. All day Isabella had tried to ignore the stone in her gut. She looked up at the
window, but there was no comfort there; its rich colours had turned to mud in the gloom. The new crack – was it getting wider? The sun was obscured by clouds, which would not disperse, despite the northern wind. The water before her was quite clear, but she felt an aversion to it as though it were poison. Dismissing her fancies, she began to breathe deeply, then she dived.

This time was different.

The way was blocked by a boiling dark sun, as large as the ocean. In panic, she turned and swam away with all her strength and surfaced in the chapel’s dull light with a horrified gasp.

She caught her breath and tried to understand what that
thing
was. It was a wickedness beyond words – the very hunger of famine, the sickness of pestilence. When Sofia had agreed to be the Lord’s Handmaid, a seed of divinity had been planted in her vulnerable mortal womb, and now, somewhere,
another
power was gestating, growing like a canker.

A small, snaking movement in the glass caught her attention: a scarlet cloud in the water, swelling with writhing hunger until it filled the glass with a diluted pink that turned swiftly into a syrupy red. It spilled over the lip and onto the table, and with a nauseated cry, Isabella kicked against the leg.

A novice appeared at the door of the chapel. ‘Reverend Mother?’

‘Carmella, the blood! The blood!’

‘Blood? Where?’

Isabella looked down. The shards of broken glass were lying in a puddle of water. ‘I’ll clean up the glass,’ said Carmella, giving her an odd look, ‘You’re needed urgently at Tower Bombelli.’

Maddalena tried barging her way onto the bridge and was surprised to be rudely pushed back by the wives and daughters
of carders and pullers who usually showed such deference. ‘How dare you? Get your dirty hands off me!’ she cried, and when she realised her threats were ineffective, she strode away in a fury and crossed Piazza Stella to the corner where Borgata Scaligeri had raised its flag.

‘You, boy! Uggeri, isn’t it? I need to see my father. Those sheep-shearing sluts won’t let me through!’

‘Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait.’

‘My mother’s giving birth – shall we push it back in?’

Uggeri took the news gravely.
‘Merda.’

‘“Congratulations” is more traditional, you uncouth dog,’ Maddalena said sweetly.

‘Where’s Sofia?’

‘Madonna, you really have no tact, have you? Elbow-deep in my mother! Do you want me to draw a picture?’

‘Merda,’
Uggeri repeated, then, ‘Stay here!’ He marched to the bridge and the crowd parted before him. A ripple of excitement passed as he crossed the Irenicon.

Over in Piazza Luna, Yuri could see over the heads of the crowd. He nudged Levi. ‘Flag on the bridge, chief.’

‘What idiot? Where’s Sofia?’

‘It’s probably the Scaligeri bitch herself,’ said Piers Becket.

Yuri grabbed him by the collar and lifted him closer. ‘You’re lucky it’s your marrying day. Otherways we see how well you outswim
buio
with breaked legs.’

Just then a bottle flew from the bridge and crashed at the steps of Palazzo del Popolo, where Fabbro stood surrounded by the priors.

Levi walked to the line. ‘No more of that now.’

But the excitement grew as Uggeri got closer, and though Pedro tried to stop them, the crowd began to surge forwards against Levi and Yuri. Other captains came forward to back them up and soon it was a pushing match, with the condottieri
shouting, ‘Back! Back!’ and the crowd instinctively reacting to the force by pushing just as hard in return.

Levi shouted over the other voices, ‘Stop pushing, everyone,’ and a more authoritative voice within the crowd echoed his: Uggeri. The heaving stopped, and they came face to face.

‘What the devil are you thinking?’ Levi shouted.

‘Where’s Sofia?’ Pedro shouted back.

‘Donna Bombelli is having her baby—’

Pedro’s face registered joy, then frustration. ‘Levi, tell Fabbro and tell him Sofia’s with her. Come on, Uggeri.’

The heaving stopped after Uggeri left, but with the captains now face to face with the front line, the tension could only mount. When Fabbro tried to pass through, he found it impossible.

‘For the love of decency, I need to be with my wife!’

‘We can force a way through, Gonfaloniere,’ said Becket with excitement.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Fabbro snapped, and Levi silently thanked the Madonna that the gonfaloniere wasn’t a typical Rasenneisi.

So they waited and listened to the Torre dell’ Orologo count the hours’ passage. Fires blossomed in both piazzas as evening drew on and the strong men on either side of the bridge kept warm with drink and braggadocio while the Small People shivered and huddled together in the darkness and listened to the unceasing bellow of the Irenicon beneath their feet.

Sister Isabella, her face wan and fearful, came from Tower Bombelli to help the other Sisters on the bridge handing out roast chestnuts and warm drinks. A little girl was crying, and her mother was struggling to distract her from the night’s icy grip. Isabella hummed a melody to sooth her, the River’s Song, and soon other voices joined in. In Piazza Luna, the brewer stomped his feet to blot out the sound.

‘How long are we going to let this farce go on? Know how we look, Bombelli? Weak,’ he said. ‘We look weak.’

Fabbro stared at the lights of Tower Bombelli across the river. ‘
Idiota
, we are weak. We’ve just broken Rasenna in two again.’

The music carried to Tower Bombelli.

‘Remember the night the bridge opened?’ said Donna Bombelli. ‘You looked beautiful, just like your mother. She was brave like you, Sofia. She crossed the river when everyone else was too scared.’

‘Brave?’ Sofia laughed mirthlessly. ‘If you only knew.’

‘Don’t be scared. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.’

Sofia looked around in alarm, but the servants were both asleep.

‘How—’

‘Don’t worry. It’s not obvious yet but I’d be sore incompetent not to recognise the signs.’

‘It’s not what you think.’ Sofia reddened.

‘I know. You’re no fool. Whoever you gave yourself to, he loves you.’

Sofia didn’t argue. She could see Donna Bombelli floating in and out of consciousness. ‘Wake up. Are you still in pain?’

‘No …’ Her breath was slow and deep and far apart, but her eyes became suddenly lucid. ‘Sofia, you’re midwife enough to know the trouble I’m in.’

‘Don’t say that!’

The stillness about her was growing. ‘It’s true, and you know it. Promise me something …’