"Then go!" The jeers were ribald. "In thirty years your Bruco does not win the Palio."
"Si, si," taunted a gleeful young voice. "Bruco wears the grandmother's cap." And everyone took up the singing cry: "Bruco wears the grandmother's cap! Bruco wears the grandmother's cap!"
It was stilled only by the trumpeters blasting forth on their silver horns. Then a hushed silence as two small pages stepped forward to the center of the stage. In military precision they turned smartly on their heels. One marched to the urn at the right end of the table, and the other to the urn at the left. While everyone watched, breathless, they took from each urn a wooden capsule and with a deep bow presented it to the Mayor.
The Mayor's hands shook violently as he opened the first capsule, unrolled a white slip of paper, and held it high for the crowd to see.
"Number six!" Every voice roared as one voice.
Quick as a wink, a man scrambled up a ladder and slid a number 6 into the top space of one rack.
Giorgio glanced into the corral nearby, where the mare Belfiore wore a number 6 beneath her ear.
The crowd went wild. "Give us Belfiore!" they cried. "Give us Belfiore!"
Then silence clamped down as the Mayor opened the second capsule and held up the paper. Those nearby read it, and almost before their lips formed the name, the man on the ladder slid the board marked "Porcupine" into the rack beside number six.
The Porcupines were beside themselves with joy. "Already we have won!" they shouted.