his own and under his own power.
His uncle smiled, his grip on Archer’s hand tightening. ‘The past and future are often intertwined in this way. She was right to send you to us. You are a good son to honour her and you shall be like a son to me.’ Even if the past ten hours weren’t enough to confirm it, Archer knew from years of letters how his uncle and his wife had despaired of any children of their own.
Archer could see now, surrounded by the big brick home of the Riccis, how disappointing it must be for his uncle not to have the home filled with children. His uncle was a well-built man, tall in the tradition of the Riccis, but his temples were greying and his years for child rearing had passed. He was a local statesman now, his days consumed with running the family cloth business and training horses. Archer understood now with vivid clarity how his mother’s last wish had been a gift for him and for her brother. Even facing death, she’d thought about what would be best for the family, for others. He would not fail her.
* * *
Giacomo was smiling now, already planning. ‘There are people I want you to meet, places I want you to see. I’d like to show you around the contrada today if you’re up for it.’
‘I would like that, if it’s not too much trouble. I can show myself around,’ Archer offered. Perhaps there was a chance of running into Elisabeta. But he would like it in other ways too. It would give him time to spend getting to know this uncle of his. The warmth of his uncle’s welcome was overwhelming, the sincerity and emotion of it touched him. It reminded him of his mother, of the warmth she extended to everyone she met. She had been a generous woman in the way that his uncle was a generous man.
His uncle waved an adamant hand in the air. ‘No, no, it’s not any trouble. You are one of us. Everyone must understand that.’ Archer nodded graciously. His mother had warned him, had she not? In an Italian family, one was never alone, never ‘forced’ to make one’s way on one’s own. His uncle was not done with his plans. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, we can ride out to the country and see the horses. It is why you’ve come, isn’t it? Your mother mentioned you loved the animals in all of her letters.’
Archer smiled. Ah, this would be easier than he could have hoped. His uncle understood. ‘It is. I am interested in the Palio. I want to be part of it.’
Giacomo beamed and laughed out loud. ‘And so you will! I am the capitano this year,’ he said proudly. Archer felt the man study him for moment, dark eyes assessing. ‘Maybe I could appoint you as one of my mangini.’ He nodded as if the decision was made. ‘Yes, you would do nicely and it would give you a chance to learn about the race.’
The mangini were supporters of the capitano, his lieutenants in seeing his commands carried out. Archer knew it was a position of honour, but it was not what he’d hoped for himself. Archer leaned forward, holding his uncle’s eyes, amber-brown like his own, in all seriousness. ‘The honour would be mine. I will serve the contrada however I may, but I had hoped to offer myself to you as a rider.’ Surely his mother had mentioned his skills in that regard if she’d mentioned him in the letters that had been exchanged over the years.
‘A fantino?’ his uncle asked before shaking his head. ‘It is not possible. The riders are not from the contradas, or even from Siena.’ He gave another wave of his hand. ‘It makes it too difficult to arrange the partiti. It simply isn’t how it is done.’ Perhaps he saw Archer’s disappointment. He gave a gentle smile. ‘Everyone in the contrada is part of the Palio and you will be too, you will see. I will need you as a mangini, someone to help me with the Palio arrangements.’ He nodded, affirming his satisfaction over the arrangement.
It was not what Archer had wanted. He’d come all this way to ride in the Palio. He’d given up Haviland’s wedding to make the journey on time. But his uncle was done with the subject for the moment. He sat back in his seat. ‘You have your mother’s eyes, the Ricci eyes, and her chin.’ His tone softened and lowered. ‘My sister, your mother, was a beautiful woman. She stole hearts wherever she went, your father’s included, and his was not an easy one to steal. But he saw her and it was all over for him. I remember that summer as if it were yesterday; the grand English earl had come to Siena for the races to see the Italian champions, and he went home with a wife, the most beautiful woman in Tuscany.’
He gave a nostalgic sigh. ‘It was a heady summer, watching Vittoria in the throes of her courtship. It was a time full of victories and romance, and now the earl’s son has returned.’ He smiled benevolently at Archer. ‘Perhaps we will find you a wife too? Someone worthy of a Ricci, no?’
Archer tried to refuse politely. ‘My path is unclear to me. I don’t know that I’d be much of a catch at the moment.’ He didn’t need his aunt and the troops of his newly introduced female cousins matchmaking for him. Marriage was the last thing he wanted. He’d just gained his freedom, he didn’t need a wife. And yet his reckless conduct in the alley last night suggested he needed something. Had last night been about sowing wild oats, or had it been about a desire to make a connection?
His uncle drummed his fingers on the table, a knowing gleam in his eye. ‘Young men all think they know what they need. I know, I was a young man once too. That’s why young men have female relatives. Women can see what a man needs better than he can himself.’ His eyes moved to Archer’s empty plate. ‘If you’re finished eating, let us be off.
‘Have I completely overwhelmed you?’ Giacomo asked as they stepped out into the street and the sun.
Archer laughed, shading his eyes and appreciating the easy camaraderie that flowed between him and his uncle. He’d missed his friends during this last leg of the journey, even Nolan’s goading and endless wagers. It was good to be back among people he could trust. ‘You mean despite the fact that you’ve tried to get me married off in less than a day? And you’ve appointed me to be a mangini? Overwhelmed hardly begins to describe it. I am overcome with your generosity.’
‘That doesn’t please you?’ Giacomo asked as they turned towards the contrada’s central piazza.
‘It does please me, it’s just that I had hoped to ride,’ Archer confessed. He would be honest with his uncle. The sooner his uncle learned he was determined and wouldn’t accept no for an answer, the better. ‘Although I understand to be a mangini is a great honour,’ he added, not wanting to appear insulting.
‘Ah, I know the feeling. I would have loved to have ridden but it isn’t how it’s done for the Palio,’ his uncle commiserated. ‘The fantini don’t come from the contradas themselves. It’s no matter.’ Giacomo shrugged. ‘If Torre wins, you will still be a hero.’ He gave a mischievous wink. ‘The women will go crazy for you since you were part of the negotiation team that helped us win.’
They came out of the street into the piazza with its fountain. It was busier here, people starting to go about their daily errands. Although, Giacomo informed him, that wouldn’t last too long once the afternoon heat peaked. Everyone would retreat behind shuttered windows into cool stucco rooms for siestas. ‘My favourite part of the day with your zia.’ He gave Archer a knowing look. ‘In the evening everyone will come out again for strolling, la passegiatta, do you know it?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Everyone strolls within their neighbourhood or in their allied neighbourhood.’ He pointed to a banner hanging on the wall of one of the tall buildings surrounding the piazza. It depicted an elephant in the foreground, a tall tower in the back, done in crimson. ‘That’s our symbol. We are Torre, the Tower.’
‘Does neighbourhood matter so much?’ Archer asked, thinking of
