Page 49

CHAPTER 48

C OTTON HAD WATCHED AS THE P ORCUPINE JOCKEY WHISPERED WITH two others, the conversations short, but nods of the heads had signaled the partitit , an agreement.

“ It is critical you pay attention to who the Porcupine approaches ,” Camilla said. “ They will be your enemy. ”

He’d also studied all the contrada colors and now knew that the trouble would come from the Tortoises and Panthers. The two flanked him on either side at the starting rope, one in the fifth position the other in the seventh. Coincidence? Hardly. The Porcupines had waited for the starting order to be revealed, then chosen their allies wisely. No telling how much money had passed on a promise. The Porcupine was two horses over toward the inside in the fourth position. Nothing about the glare the bearded jockey threw his way signaled friendly.

Nine horses pranced anxiously at the starting rope. The tenth horse, from the Dragons, remained behind them, ready to start the race with a dash toward the starting line. The rincorsa was apparently reveling in his power position since he’d already teased a start twice only to stop short and retreat behind the pack. Cotton’s two minders on either side were keeping their mounts close to his, which Leone clearly did not appreciate. One kept shifting on his hooves, returning every bump into him one for one.

Horses generally shied away from a fight, fleeing problems, not embracing them. Cotton stroked Leone’s neck, calming her, but noticed that the ears were constantly shifting. Pointed forward meant the focus was on the horses. Ears back? She was listening to her rider. Pinned straight down? That meant she was pissed. And all of that was compounded by a fun fact he learned from his grandfather. Horses could not focus directly ahead. Only at the periphery. Leone would have to turn her head to see, and she was doing just that, agitated at the horses to her right and left, ears straight down.

Watch out.

The crowd was becoming impatient with the Dragon’s flirtations with the starting rope. They wanted the race to start.

So did he.

“You two need to stay out of this,” he said in Italian to the jockeys on either side. “It will not end well. I don’t give a damn about rules.”

Neither replied.

But both stepped up their assaults on Leone with their own mounts.

He turned his head around and saw the Dragon jockey, the face set in hard determination. The man squeezed his calves into the horse and clicked for them both to race forward. The horse leaped ahead and this time there was no retreat.

The rope dropped.

He and the other jockeys spurred their mounts and all ten horses shot forward in a cloud of dust, hooves thundering, horse ears pointed ahead. He leaned his body forward and spurred Leone to run faster. He was careful not to lean too far, as that could cause the horse to stumble. Balance was the name of the game. The Tortoise and Panther jockeys kept their mounts close, not allowing him to escape their embrace. All the other horses bunched as they approached the first turn.

The Porcupine in the lead.

And moving away.

T HOMAS FOLLOWED M ALONE IN THE RIFLE SCOPE, PRACTICING KEEPING the American in the crosshairs. He could take the shot now.

But did not.

Instead he followed his target and simulated pulling the trigger, getting a feel for things.

Ready for the second lap.

C OTTON GRIPPED THE REINS, HOLDING TIGHT AS THE HORSES MADE the second turn, known as San Martino, a descending curve. He was careful not to grip his thighs too tight, as that would signal for Leone to slow down. He needed the opposite. More speed. He could feel Leon’s heartbeat pounding through his calves.

Stay relaxed.

Leone’s generous gallop kept steady.

The Porcupine was slipping away.

But the Panthers and Tortoise were staying right with him. The Tortoise jockey reached across and smacked him on the right shoulder with his crop.

Which hurt.

Another blow.

This time to the side of his face.

Really?

He yanked on the reins and brought Leone into contact with the Tortoise’s horse. The other jockey seemed undaunted and tossed over a few more blows with the crop.

Enough of that.

He pulled on the reins and popped his thighs against Leone. The horse responded and increased her gait. They pulled away from his two minders and headed for the Porcupine.

J ASON’S ATTENTION ALTERNATED BETWEEN THE RACE AND A SCOLANI , who stood stolid among the Porcupines. Everyone else was cheering the riders along at a furious pace, arms waving, voices loud. But the cardinal remained dispassionate, like a statue. As did Camilla, who stood beside Jason, with the other capitani standing in front of them.

“I told him to wait until lap two,” she whispered. “Then make a move.”

The roar from the crowd was deafening, everyone’s attention on the race as the horses entered the third turn.

The most treacherous.

It had a name too, as Camilla had informed him. Casato. Which ascended slightly at a nearly right angle. Tough to navigate at a full run for a horse and rider. A lot of injuries and some deaths had occurred there. So many that the outer wall was cushioned to break any fall. He’d not liked the sound of that when she’d explained the race to him and Malone. Now, watching a thunderous pack of horses and riders make the sharp swing, he could see just how tricky that turn could be.

But they all made it around, the horses now on a straight part of the track that went down, then up to the final turn toward the finish line.

He kept an eye on Ascolani.

Who was glancing back over his left shoulder, away from the action, toward the buildings that lined the campo.

What was that devil thinking?