‘I swear it.’
‘There’s going to be a raid. Here, at the masseria… you know what we saw in Gioia? The gangs, and the beatings? It’s a war, Pip, and… and Ettore is one of the people fighting it.’
‘He’s going to attack his own uncle?’
‘No, no – he’s not leading it. I think… I don’t think he likes the idea. But raiders will come, and he will be one of them. They don’t want to hurt anybody – it’s very important for you to understand that.’ She thinks of Ludo, of the other guards laughing as he flicked the whip at the naked man, making him graze. Ettore wants to kill Ludo Manzo. ‘Not you or your father, not Marcie or Leandro. In fact, Ettore thought his uncle would be in Gioia, out of the way…’
‘Then why would they attack this place?’ Pip’s voice is tight with nerves. ‘We have to warn Marcie and Leandro!’
‘No! No, you promised me, Pip – you swore you wouldn’t!’ She grips his arms so hard that cramp starts in the heels of her hands.
‘Ow! All right! But… what do they want? If it’s not to hurt anybody?’
‘I… I’m not sure. Perhaps they only want to show that they can do something. Perhaps they only want to be heard – and treated better.’
‘What… what should I do?’ He swallows convulsively, fearfully.
‘Don’t be frightened, Pip, and don’t do anything. Stay up in your room. Does the door lock? Then lock it. Don’t come down no matter what you hear, and you’ll be safe. Promise me you’ll do as I say! And please, please, say nothing. If the guards know they’re coming…’ It’s Clare’s turn to swallow, because her mouth is dry, her throat in a chokehold. ‘If they’re ready for them, then people will die. Do you understand?’
Dumbly, Pip nods, and Clare sees him glance around and realise that they’ve stopped dancing even though the music is still blaring. He looks at Marcie, at Leandro, at the doctor’s pretty daughter making eyes at him from across the room. She can see him trying to assimilate what she’s said, struggling to continue with real life now that he has this unreal knowledge; now that the stakes have changed so drastically. ‘If only we’d gone,’ she murmurs, too quietly for him to hear. ‘If only we’d gone right after what we saw in Gioia, like I wanted to. Before any of the rest of this happened, and we came to this point.’ But though she’d do anything to keep Pip safe, she can’t regret Ettore – can’t regret loving him; can’t regret the child now planted in her. She holds Pip tightly, subtly leading him to the end of their dance, and realises that Sunday night, when she opens the door to the masseria, might be the last time she ever sees Ettore. She and Pip dance on, woodenly, disjointedly, as if they can’t hear the music.
Late in the evening Clare walks out under the archway to stand by the doors with Boyd and the Cardettas and see off the last of the guests. Pip has gone to bed; he didn’t seem to enjoy himself much after Clare spoke to him, even though Marcie jollied and cajoled him, and looked hurt when he didn’t respond. The Centassos’ little trap pony spooks at the aia dogs as it trots past them, and Clare takes a lungful of the night air, which somehow tastes different to that within the masseria. There are few stars and no sounds of night birds or insects; there’s a preternatural stillness, hunkered down like a stalking animal. Movement catches Clare’s eye and she sees a fragile curl of ash, drifting down from the sky like a dirty snowflake; then she notices the tang of smoke, and turns to glance at Leandro. He’s staring northwards, where an ugly orange glow is smudged along the sky, and at once they’re all uneasy; at the colour of the fiery sky, and the fixed way Leandro stares at it. The fire isn’t close, but it’s on his land.
‘Marcie, take our guests inside,’ says Leandro. She’s still waving after the Centassos, though they haven’t turned to see. ‘Marcie!’ he barks. She starts, turns to him. ‘Go inside.’
‘What’s up, honey?’ she says. But then Ludo Manzo appears through the gates on his horse, cantering towards them. He has his rifle in one hand, his face is streaked with sweat and soot and has a murderous look. When he reaches Leandro he yanks the horse’s mouth to halt it and unleashes a violent burst of his accented Italian.
‘What’s he saying, Clare?’ says Boyd, at her side. Clare shakes her head.
‘I can’t follow it.’ Her heart is racing with nerves – that this is somehow related to her, to Federico’s dismissal.
Ludo and Leandro talk for a short time, then the overseer wheels his horse around and rides away fast. Leandro turns to them, and his face is set and grave. But he doesn’t look at Boyd, or at his wife – he looks at Clare. And Clare goes cold.
‘What is it?’ she says, not caring if Boyd wonders at her question. Leandro’s face twists then; he sucks in a breath. ‘What is it?’ she says again, with an edge of panic on the words. ‘Tell me!’
‘I must go. I have business…’ he says, still looking at Clare. ‘Go inside. Stay there.’
‘Sure we will, darling,’ says Marcie. ‘Come on, Clare. And you, Boyd – whatever this is I’m sure Ludo and Leandro can handle it… Do come on. It’s best to do as he says when there’s trouble on the farm.’ She’s still glimmering in her finery, fluttering her hands to herd them. Leandro turns and starts to follow his overseer, but Clare runs after him. She takes his arm.
‘Is it him? Is it Ettore? Tell me!’ she whispers. In the distance the sky glows with steady menace, and smoke blooms upwards like some vast tree. Leandro stares down at her; she sees anger, pain and something else in his eyes – something intractable.
‘Go inside, Chiara,’ he says, so adamantly she has no choice but to obey. Boyd puts his arm around her shoulders when she reaches him. Clare’s head feels detached from her body; she stumbles, letting Boyd steer her.
‘You understood more of what was said than you’re letting on, didn’t you?’ says Boyd. ‘What were they saying, Clare?’ The masseria door closes behind them with a thump, and Clare can’t bring herself to speak. She has never been more afraid.
Chapter Fourteen – Ettore
When Ettore tells Gianni and Benedetto that he’s found Livia’s murderer, their silence is long and has a solidity that seems unbreakable. But Bianca breaks it; Livia’s mother. She’s on her stool by the stove, and she makes a little sound like a whimper of fear, but when Ettore looks at her he doesn’t see fear. He sees hunger. Fat black flies buzz around in circles, drowsy after dark. The noise of their wings is almost more than Ettore can stand – he feels he could snatch them out the air with his eyes closed. He’s so on edge his eyes catch every movement, his ears every sound. The air sits high up in his chest; he can’t unknot his shoulders. Not while Federico Manzo walks and breathes and smiles. He doesn’t think about Chiara – he can’t. Livia is enough, and thinking that the same man has touched Chiara might tip him off this point of fine balance, and break his tenuous grip on control. Images of her distended pupils, her bloody lip, appear in front of his eyes now and then, and he twitches his mind away from them. There’s nothing for him to sit on in the cramped room; Livia’s two brothers sit on the mattress with their legs out in front and their backs against the wall; Ettore crouches on one knee in front of them to deliver his message, like a supplicant.
Gianni is staring at him as though it’s Ettore he would kill. He has always made Ettore feel like a boy, ineffectual as a child, and as he draws breath Ettore thinks Gianni will ask if he’s ready for what will come; or tell him to leave it to him and Benedetto. But he doesn’t.