On the other side of Elizabeth, Old Niccolo was telling Uncle Lorenzo that Marco was a real acquisition, because he could understand cats. Tonino felt a little wistful at this. He went outside into the chilly yard. As he had expected, Benvenuto was now curled up in the sunny patch on the gallery steps. He undulated his tail in annoyance at Tonino. He had just settled down for a sleep.
But Marco could not understand cats, Benvenuto said irritably. He knew Benvenuto’s name, because Rosa had told him, but he had no idea what Benvenuto had actually said to him. Benvenuto had told him that he and Rinaldo would get thoroughly scratched if they started a fight in the Casa – neither of them was boss cat here. Now, if Tonino would go away, a cat could get some sleep.
This was a great relief to Tonino. He now felt free to like Marco as much as Paolo did. Marco was fun. He was never in the Casa for very long, because he and his brother were building a villa out beyond the New Bridge, but he was one of the few people Tonino laid down his book to talk to. And that, Lucia told Rosa, was a compliment indeed.
Rosa and Marco were to be married in the spring. They laughed about it constantly as they swept in and out of the Casa together. Antonio and Uncle Lorenzo walked out to the villa where Mario Andretti lived, and arranged it all. Mario Andretti came to the Casa to settle the details. He was a large fat man – who drove a shrewd bargain, Aunt Francesca said – and quite different from Marco. The most notable thing about him was the long white motor car he came in.
Old Niccolo looked at that car reflectively. “It smells,” he said. “But it looks more reliable than a cardboard horse.” He sighed. He still felt deeply humiliated. All the same, after Mario Andretti had driven away, Tonino was very interested to be sent out to the post with two letters. One was addressed to Ferrari, the other to Rolls-Royce in England.
In the normal way, the talk in the Casa would have been all about that car and those two letters. But they passed unnoticed in the anxious murmurs about Florence, Siena and Pisa. The only topic able to drown out the talk of war was Rosa’s wedding dress. Should it be long or short? With a train, or not? And what kind of veil? Rosa was quite as independent about that as she had been over Marco.
“I suppose I have no say in it at all,” she said. “I shall have it knee-length one side and a train ten feet long on the other, I think. And no veil. Just a black mask.”
This thoroughly offended Aunt Maria and Aunt Gina, who were the chief arguers. What with the noise they made, and the twanging the other side of the room, where Antonio had roped Marco in to help find the words to the Angel, Tonino was unable to concentrate on his book. He took it along the gallery to the library, hoping for peace there.
But Rinaldo was leaning on the gallery rail outside the library, looking remarkably sinister, and he stopped Tonino. “That Marco,” he said. “I wish I could remember where I saw him. I’ve seen him in the Art Gallery with Rosa, but it wasn’t there. I know it was somewhere much more damaging than that.”
Tonino had no doubt that Rinaldo knew all sorts of damaging places. He took his book into the library, hoping that Rinaldo would not remember the place, and settled down in the chilly mustiness to read.
The next moment, Benvenuto landed on his book with a thump.
“Oh get off!” said Tonino. “I start school tomorrow, and I want to finish this first.”
No, said Benvenuto. Tonino was to go to Old Niccolo at once. A flurry of scrips, spells, yellow parchment rolls and then a row of huge red books passed behind Tonino’s eyes. It was followed by a storm of enormous images. Giants were running, banging, smoking and burning, and they all wore red and gold. But not yet. They were preparing to fight, marching in great huge boots. Benvenuto was so urgent that it took all Tonino’s skill to sort out what he meant.
“All right,” said Tonino. “I’ll tell him.” He got up and pelted round the gallery, past Rinaldo, who said, “What’s the hurry?” to Old Niccolo’s quarters. Old Niccolo was just coming out.
“Please,” said Tonino, “Benvenuto says to get out the war-spells. The Duke is calling up the Reserves.”
Old Niccolo stood so very quiet and wide-eyed that Tonino thought he did not believe it. Old Niccolo was feeling for the door-frame. He seemed to think it was missing.
“You did hear me, did you?” Tonino asked.
“Yes,” said Old Niccolo. “Yes, I heard. It’s just so soon – so sudden. I wish the Duke had warned us. So war is coming. Pray God our strength is still enough.”
Benvenuto’s news caused a stampede in the Casa Montana. The older cousins raced to the Scriptorium and began packing away all the usual spells, inks and pens. The aunts fetched out the special inks for use in war-spells. The uncles staggered under reams of fresh paper and parchment. Antonio, Old Niccolo and Rinaldo went to the library and fetched the giant red volumes, with WAR stamped on their spines, while Elizabeth raced to the music room with all the children to put away the ordinary music and set out the tunes and instruments of war.
Meanwhile, Rosa, Marco and Domenico raced out into the Via Magica and came back with newspapers. Everyone at once left what they were doing and crowded into the dining room to see what the papers said.
They made a pile of people, all craning over the table. Rinaldo was standing on a chair, leaning over three aunts. Marco was underneath, craning anxiously sideways, head to head with Old Niccolo, as Rosa flipped over the pages. There were so many other people packed in and leaning over that Lucia, Paolo and Tonino were forced to squat with their chins on the table, in order to see at all.
“No, nothing,” Rosa said, flipping over the second paper.
“Wait,” said Marco. “Look at the Stop Press.”
Everyone swayed towards it, pushing Marco further sideways. Then Tonino almost knew where he had seen Marco before.
“There it is,” said Antonio.
All the bodies came upright, with their faces very serious.
“Reserve mobilised, right enough,” said Rosa. “Oh, Marco!”
“What’s the matter?” Rinaldo asked jeeringly from his chair. “Is Marco a Reservist?”
“No,” said Marco. “My – my brother got me out of it.”
Rinaldo laughed. “What a patriot!”
Marco looked up at him. “I’m a Final Reservist,” he said, “and I hope you are too. If you aren’t, it will be a pleasure to take you round to the Army Office in the Arsenal this moment.”
The two glared at one another. Once again there were shouts to Rinaldo to stop making a fool of himself. Sulkily, Rinaldo climbed down and stalked out.
“Rinaldo is a Final Reservist,” Paolo assured Marco.
“I thought he must be,” Marco said. “Look, I must go. I – I must tell my brother. Rosa, I’ll see you tomorrow if I can.”
When Tonino fell asleep that night, the room next door to him was full of people talking of war and the Angel of Caprona, with occasional digressions about Rosa’s wedding dress. Tonino’s head was so full of these things that he was quite surprised, when he went to school, not to hear them talked of there. But no one seemed to have noticed there might be a war. True, some of the teachers looked grave, but that might have been just their natural feelings at the start of a new term.
Consequently, Tonino came home that afternoon thinking that maybe things were not so bad after all. As usual, Benvenuto leapt off the water butt and sprang into his arms. Tonino was rubbing his face against Benvenuto’s nearest ragged ear, when he heard a carriage draw up