Page 54 of The Medici Return

“To a point.Contradasare forbidden from entering into any agreements that help another to win the race. But they do notforbid us from making agreements that ensure anotherlosesthe race.”

He caught Richter’s eye and saw that he agreed.

This was it.

“I am the Golden Oak’scapitano. I am supposed to represent strength, dignity, courage. I have to be a strategist. Capable, alert, daring. Diplomatic, too. Thecapitanoselects the jockey and sets the strategy for the race.”

She was taking her time. Working her way to the meat of the coconut.

“The Palio is a race of chance and fate,” she said. “The tencontradaswho participate are chosen by random lots. The horses are assigned randomly. How the horses line up at the starting line is also determined by luck of the draw. That is the chance part. But how those various elements are utilized? That is the fate part. But I made a mistake. The jockey I chose took our money to stop the Porcupines, then made a separate deal with them to do just the opposite. Thankfully, we discovered his deceit.”

“What did you do to him?” Richter asked.

“Nothing yet. But he will eventually be using what we paid him for medical bills.”

He was impressed. Especially since she’d spoken without a hint of emotion or regret. Just part of doing business.

“I need a jockey,” she said. “Do you ride, Signore Malone?”

He nodded. “I grew up on a farm. My grandfather had horses. He taught me. But not bareback.”

He knew the Palio never used saddles. Just a bridle.

“I am sure you can adjust,” she said.

“Why not just use a more experienced jockey?” Richter asked. “Like the man who was riding earlier? Or another who has participated in the Palio before?”

“Because I have been burned once. I do not have the time to be burned twice. I want someone who cannot be bribed. Someone where only I can provide what they want. You, Signore Malone, meet all those criteria.”

That actually made sense, in an odd sort of way. “You want me to make sure the Porcupines lose.”

She nodded. “And I don’t care what you have to do. The rules that govern the race forbid jockeys from hitting or attacking each other with arms, fists, or bodies. To break those rules leads to disqualification and a ban from the Palio for life. But that penalty means nothing to you.”

“Or to you,” he added.

“Not in the least. I want results and I am willing to pay for them.”

“But we do not want money,” Richter said. “You know that.”

“Cardinal Stamm told me what you want. I have a close relationship with the Carthusians.”

“How much money do you give them?” Cotton asked.

“Enough that they would not tell me no. I also own all the land surrounding the monastery. I allow them free use for what they need.”

“And if Malone rides the race and does what you want, you can get us inside the monastery?” Richter asked. “We can see what they have stored there?”

She nodded. “I will make that happen. Can you deliver for me?”

Nothing about this seemed good. The Palio, for all its spectacle, was a dangerous race. Especially for the untrained. People could, and did, get hurt. As did some of the horses. The other nine jockeys would be seasoned pros who knew what they were doing. Especially when it came to deals. Most of those would involve getting a head start, or no obstruction during the race, or maybe some parrying of an adversary or squeezing him at the turns to slow him down. Camilla Baines just wanted her enemy stopped and could not have cared less how that was accomplished. But surely the Porcupines would be equally intent on affecting Golden Oak. That meant a free-for-all. Atop horses running about thirty miles an hour along a rough, treacherous track.

Bareback.

None of which mattered.

Since he knew what to say.

“Sure. I can get it done.”