Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [82]
“Just a moment!” Chrestomanci said loudly. Everyone turned to him, respectful but irritable. “If each spell-house,” he said, “insists on regarding the other as monsters, I can promise you that Caprona will shortly fall again.” They stared at him, Montanas and Petrocchis, equally indignant. The Archbishop looked at the Duke, and both of them began to edge towards the shelter of the Cathedral porch.
“What are you talking about?” Rinaldo said aggressively. His dignity was damaged by being a puppet anyway. The look in his eye seemed to promise cowpats for everyone—with the largest share for Chrestomanci.
“I’m talking about the Angel of Caprona,” said Chrestomanci. “When the Angel alighted on the Cathedral, in the time of the First Duke of Caprona, bearing the safety of Caprona with him, history clearly states that the Duke appointed two men—Antonio Petrocchi and Piero Montana—to be keepers of the words of the Angel and therefore keepers of the safety of Caprona. In memory of this, each Casa has an Angel over its gate, and the great Angel stands on a pedestal showing the Petrocchi leopard entwined with the Montana winged horse.” Chrestomanci pointed upwards. “If you don’t believe me, ask for ladders and go and see. Antonio Petrocchi and Piero Montana were fast friends, and so were their families after them. There were frequent marriages between the two Casas. And Caprona became a great city and a strong State. Its decline dates from that ridiculous quarrel between Ricardo and Francesco.”
There were murmurs from Montanas and Petrocchis alike, here, that the quarrel was not ridiculous.
“Of course it was,” said Chrestomanci. “You’ve all been deceived from your cradles up. You’ve let Ricardo and Francesco fool you for two centuries. What they really quarreled about we shall never know, but I know they both told their families the same lies. And you have all gone on believing their lies and getting deeper and deeper divided, until the White Devil was actually able to enter Caprona again.”
Again there were murmurs. Antonio said, “The Duchess was the White Devil, but—”
“Yes,” said Chrestomanci. “And she has gone for the moment, because the words were found and the Angel awakened by members of both families. I suspect it could only have been done by Montanas and Petrocchis united. The rest of you could have sung the right words separately, until you were all blue in the face, and nothing would have happened. The Angel respects only friendship. The young ones of both families are luckily less bigoted than the rest of you. Marco and Rosa have even had the courage to fall in love and get married—”
Up till then, both families had listened—restively, it was true, because it was not pleasant to be lectured in front of a crowd of fellow citizens, not to speak of the Duke and the Archbishop—but they had listened. But at this, pandemonium broke out.
“Married!” screamed the Montanas. “She’s a Montana!” screamed the Petrocchis. Insults were yelled at Rosa and at Marco. Anyone who wished to count would have found no less than ten aunts in tears at once, and all cursing as they wept. Rosa and Marco were both white. It needed only Rinaldo to step up to Marco, glowering, and he did. “This scum,” he said to Rosa, “knocked me down and cut my head open. And you marry it!”
Chrestomanci made haste to get between Marco and Rinaldo. “I’d hoped someone would see reason,” he said to Rosa. He seemed very tired. “It had better be Venice.”
“Get out of my way!” said Rinaldo. “You double-dealing sorcerer!”
“Please move, sir,” said Marco. “I don’t need to be shielded from an idiot like him.”
“Marco,” said Chrestomanci, “have you thought what two families of powerful magicians could do to you and Rosa?”
“Of course we have!” Marco said angrily, trying to push Chrestomanci aside.
But a strange silence fell again, the silence of the Angel. The Archbishop knelt down. Awed people crowded to one side or another of the Cathedral yard. The Angel was returning. He came from far off down the Corso, on foot now, with his wing tips