He was standing with William Dethridge outside the Ducal palace and the old Stravagante linked arms with him and the two of them shouted ‘Viva la Duchessa!’ till they were hoarse. Luciano had completely forgotten about his cancer. There was no way they could get to their friends through the mass of people jammed into the courtyard. Rodolfo and Arianna entered the palace by the big oak doors at the top of the white marble stairs and were lost to sight. Di Chimici and his furious cousin struggled through the mob pushing in the opposite direction. Lucien saw them coming and retreated with Dethridge into the Piazza, where an impromptu party was already starting up. Wooden trestles were being set up, barrels of ale rolled into the square and handcarts trundled along, laden with cheeses and whole hams and flat Bellezzan loaves the size of cartwheels. The city had been preparing, in a half-hearted way, for the election of a new Duchessa, but the result had been better than the people had dreamed possible and now they were going to celebrate it in style.
