Free A Dancer in Darkness by David Stacton

degraded to the status of a toy. But toys are mysteries to the children who use them. It is only their adults who have forgotten what they mean. So it does not matter what this popinjay was. The ceremony was as old as the death of winter and the birth of spring. If the year was to be full of life, then the popinjay must die. The meaning of it was as simple as that.
    There was no level ground at Amalfi, except along the sea.There, there was a broad esplanade, which might almost pass for a plaza.
    The guildsmen conducted her forward through crowds lining each side of the way, and she was cheered. Thus they would have cheered the virgin come to trap the unicorn.
    The popinjay was set up on a tall pole on the south side of the embarcadero. It was a roughly carved wooden bird, perhaps two feet across, with outspread wings, which seemed to soar on the apex of the pole. It was a blue parrot. Ceremoniously the Duchess was handed the bow. Archery she had practised as a child, with Ferdinand, until she began to best him. She felt confident.
    The crowd was suddenly hushed. One of the syndics had the honour to present her with an arrow, on a small pillow made of plush. She smiled at him, for he seemed a little worried, fitted the arrow into its notch, and drew back the bow. There was no wind and the sun stood high.
    It was a moment of supreme joy. She did not want to let the arrow go. She wanted to prolong the moment. But the crowd was waiting, and the weight of the drawn bow grew uncomfortable . With a sigh, she released it.
    The arrow flew unerringly up to the top of the pole. As it did so, other arrows entered the air. She tried to follow her own, shielding her eyes from the sun. Her own had a golden vane. The vane glittered, and the popinjay exploded, its loose wings turning and pivoting, brilliant against the sky. The crowd sighed and then shouted with approval. Only then did she realize that she alone of that company had known she would hit the target. Now they all knew it. It was a genuine triumph. She looked up at the fragments tumbling through the sky and shook out her hair. In that moment they were truly her own people, and she was their Duchess.
    All was safe now. The year was born. Behind her she felt the presence of Antonio, her household steward. She turned, and was startled by the immediacy of his face. She had received him when he had come to take up his duties, but her heart had not been open then. It was open now, and she saw him for the first time. And Antonio saw her. Something turned over in him that should have been sleeping. He turned and walked away.
II
    Antonio took his duties seriously. As the fourth son of a noble family far from rich, he had had to use his wits. He had used them here. It had taken him a month to assure that the Duchess would be chosen to shoot the popinjay. It was he, too, who had arranged the Triumph that was to follow.
    The occasion was the annual feast day of the local saint, but the purpose was to enhance the power of Amalfi. It was a piece of propaganda, much used in Florence and the north, but not so well exploited in the south. There would be a procession to the Cathedral. So now great cars were hidden in side alleys and, to tell the truth, the clergy were somewhat pushed aside, for in this sort of procession religion came last. If that was symbolic, no one noticed it, least of all the clergy. The parade would wind slowly in and out of the streets, to arrive at last at the Cathedral. It was there, facing a little uphill square from the top of the church stairs, that the Duchess and the Bishop took their station to watch the festivities.
    The Duchess had never seen a Triumph before. She waited impatiently, while the Bishop talked. She was somewhat on edge. She knew for whom this ostentation was designed, and she had more reason to fear her brothers’ wrath than their timidity. But the day was a clear one and she was happy. She leaned forward at the first sound of music down the street,