Free The Shepherdess of Siena: A Novel of Renaissance Tuscany by Linda Lafferty Page B

used to it.”
    He stared up into my eyes, his brown eyes wet. I stroked the curly stock of mane between his ears—all spongy fuzz, not at all like an adult horse’s hair. He tried to nip me again, but I pulled my arm away just in time, giving him another smack on the nose.
    “Maybe you aren’t the devil,” I said. “But you are my little demon.”

C HAPTER 13
    Siena, Pugna Hills
    M ARCH 1573
    A few weeks after the birth of Orione, there was a knock on the door of our casetta .
    “In the name of Duchessa d’Elci, I come bearing a gift,” said a voice.
    I licked my fingers clean of grease, threw the bolt, and opened the door.
    Outside stood a rider dressed in green and white, Oca colors. Since it was not a Feast Day, I marveled at his dress, and that a contradiolo would visit our little cottage in the hills.
    In one hand, he held his horse’s reins. In the other, he carried a package wrapped in paper painted deep green with white stars.
    “Are you Virginia Tacci?” he inquired. He was a tall, dark-haired youth. His accent was thoroughly Senese—but cultured.
    Zia Claudia pushed past me, staring bug-eyed at the package. She stretched out her hands to grab it.
    “Per la piccola,” said the young man, his green eyes fastened on mine. This is for the little one.
    Avoiding Zia’s grasping hands, he handed the package to me.
    “This is from the Duchessa d’Elci. I am to put this token of her appreciation into your hands. There is a letter attached.”
    I touched the beautiful paper wrapping the package. A folded parchment sealed with crimson wax lay on top.
    My fingers eagerly unwrapped the paper. My zia grabbed it.
    “Such a green!” she exclaimed. “This must be worth—”
    “Silenzio, moglie!” admonished Giovanni.
    I held up a leather halter, oiled to a deep walnut color and bearing medallioned rosettes painted with the emblem of the Goose in green and white with red trim.
    “It is the collo di cavallo— the processional Palio halter — ofStella, our blessed horse of two Palio victories,” said the Oca contradiolo. “Stella wore this to the cathedral for the blessing of the horse and jockey.” His voice was low in reverence.
    The image of the beautiful mare standing before the altar dazzled me. I could imagine the priest raising his hand, making the sign of the cross, sprinkling the fantino and his racehorse with holy water.
    “We of the Contrada dell’Oca thank you for saving her colt. When the House of d’Elci wins, we ocaioli share in the honor. Now you do, too.”
    He nodded to me, then winked.
    I stared down at the parchment, folded in four and sealed with wax. A two-headed eagle was embossed in the red seal, its faces pointing in opposite directions. I did not open it, for I could not read.

    I raced toward Vignano, my package hidden under my coat.
    Breathless, I pushed open the stable door.
    “Padrino!” I shouted. “Look what I have!”
    Brunelli was straightening nails on his anvil. He turned his head slowly to me, blinking sweat from his eyes.
    “Duchessa d’Elci sent a collo di cavallo to me—the one Stella wore to the cathedral for the benediction of the horses!”
    Brunelli’s face transformed, the creases relaxing, erasing the years.
    “Dio mio,” he said. I pulled the star-studded package from my coat.
    With the reverence of a priest handling the host at the altar, Brunelli pulled the leather halter from the paper. “A two-time Palio winner,” he whispered. “There is magic in this, ciccia,” he said.
    “And she sent a letter!” I said, waving the parchment at his face. “Please, could you read it to me?”
    Brunelli gazed at the letter. “Giorgio, veni !” he called.
    I winced at the name. I remembered the rough toweling before my meeting with the Duchessa d’Elci.
    The red-haired young man approached us, a pitchfork in his paint-stained hand. His hair and clothes were littered with bits of hay. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.
    He stared at me,