Giorgio listened in an agony of suspense. He could feel his chest going in and out against the place where his pocket and his speech should have been. "Please, O Mother of Perpetual Help, let him talk on and on! Let him forget I am here. Or maybe you could make an earthquake ... or an eruption like Vesuvius...."
But the only eruption was a burst of applause as the General sat down and Captain Tortorelli arose.
Giorgio closed his eyes.
Captain Tortorelli half-closed his eyes, too, but he was in ecstasy. "How beautiful is the Piazza of Siena with ten fantinos in battle!" His voice resounded through the great hall. "Some call them ten assassins. Yes, the eyes of an assassin are dangerous, but in the danger they are fiercely beautiful."
Giorgio began to shake all over. The Captain was making a half turn toward him, was facing him now, speaking to him, and the force of his breath caused the hairs on Giorgio's head to quiver. "Fate is Queen of the Palio!" the voice rolled on. "We can prepare for victory, morally and materially, but never certainly. Only Fate and the fantino can decide between victory and defeat.
"Some tasks," he concluded, "need a big man. Others, a small one. Some fantinos are big and strong, but some are bird-light and think more of their mount than of their own safety. Giorgio Terni, you are such a one." He raised his glass in a toast to the boy at his side. "Our fate is in your hands."
"Bravo! Bravissimo!" the councilmen and contradaioli cheered. Then all about there was a great gaping silence—full of eyes, full of question marks. What would the boy say? What promises would he make?