At the Curve of San Martino
In spite of his disappointment, Giorgio's spirits began to rise with each passing hour. Even if he could not ride Farfalla in the Palio, he was no longer an outcast. He was a participant! And for a week at least he would be free of the weasel of a groom with his sly grin and razor tongue.
That same day of the drawing, and for three successive days, the rehearsal races were held. They were called Provas, but Giorgio failed to see that they proved anything.
In the first one he was eager to make a good showing for the Shell, and he lifted Turbolento up over the starting rope before it actually touched the track. In fact, he was well in the lead when he noticed that none of the other fantinos were urging their mounts. They made a great to-do with flapping elbows and wild yelling, but anyone could see they were intent on concealing their mounts' true ability.
Giorgio followed their cue. Besides, after the first spurt, he sensed that he might have trouble with Turbolento. Although not new to racing, the horse was accustomed to the tracks in the provinces. The races there were run counterclockwise, while here in the Piazza del Campo the running went clockwise. It would take patient control of Turbolento's speed and of his leads to prevent his switching at the turns. Before Giorgio had gone once around the Piazza, he understood the real purpose of the Prova. Horses and riders had to get acquainted three ways—with each other, with the dangerous slopes and curves, and with the opposite way of running. No wonder the rehearsal races were neither battle nor competition!
During the days of the Provas, Giorgio felt as if he had the all-seeing eyes of a horse. Besides watching Turbolento's every move, he managed to see what was happening to Farfalla, whether she was ahead of him or behind. Her fantino, Ivan-the-Terrible, went around the curves flapping his wings like a bird. Twice he flew off into space. Luckily, Farfalla was not hurt by entangling reins or bumps from other horses. Giorgio remembered later that he had noticed Ivan was unhurt only after he had made sure about Farfalla!
"Which horse is it you ride?" an elderly man of the Forest whispered to Giorgio after the third Prova. "Is it your Turbolento, or is it our Farfalla?" And he winked and nudged him in the ribs as if he wished the boy could be their fantino.
Quickly Giorgio's bodyguards closed in, wondering if the man were making some secret offer. But they might have saved themselves the trouble, for neither Turbolento nor Giorgio was considered strong enough to win—or to help anyone else to win.
Despite his watchfulness, Giorgio failed to see the crippling accident that happened to Farfalla in the last Prova on the very morning of the Palio. Between the curves of San Martino and the Casato, the horses of the Panther and the Unicorn were having a private race of their own. As Farfalla tried to pass, a hoof lashed out and hit her a sharp blow, almost severing the cartilage of her left hind foot. Ivan-the-Terrible managed to stay on, and let her finish the race limping heavily.
Moments later Giorgio passed her in a narrow lane as she was being led back to her stable. He turned to look at her bleeding heel. "The devil pursues her!" he said to his guards. Then his eyes blazed with a sudden thought. "They won't race her; they can't race her this afternoon in the Palio!" he cried out.