A boy ran through a seemingly endless labyrinth of staircases and alleyways, weaving a path through the meat district on a course past buildings that were increasingly maintained as the heart of the city neared. In sandals, the straps so loose bare feet would have been more practical, the boy rounded the corner of la Strada Macellai and Via Pavone glancing down at the stained sidewalk in front of Sorentino's Butcher Shop for a brief second. To be able to run so smoothly down the narrow corridors of the streets of Ancona, or to even see so much of the decaying cobblestone paths, was a rarity in the bustling historical capitol. That was not to say that the typical local sort were not out in their customary hangouts, but the bulk of the city had already made their way down to Piazza Castello for the annual Feast of San Angelo. In the few years previous that the boy was old enough to roam the streets by himself, and more importantly panhandle on them in the neighborhoods uptown of his tenement, he found no interest in making his way to the festivities and parades of the feast which was one of many that Anconans would bring their dreary lives to a halt for three days for.
This was not the average Feast of San Angelo, however, as it coincided with an even more proportionately important event that scores of noblemen and their families along the coast and as far north as Fortezza Nuerro had come to attend. Even the ever present watchful eyes of the city, the elderly women who sat leaning out of their apartment windows, their garden baskets of herbs and vegetables below them, were not as prominent as any other given day where at least three could be seen observing the streets below from every building. Still racing towards the city center the boy was coming up behind one of these women who he recognized, a lady who must have been as old as the building she lived. As she would walk at a snail's pace everyday, to and from the Sorentino's butchery, she would give a quick wave and smile to everyone that she encountered as if she knew every last one them, all though having lived in the same squalor room on the same street for as long as she had there was a strong probability that she did know most of them.
"Buona pomeriggio, ragazzi," the woman shouted across the avenue in a hoarse whisper to a group of late teens who frequented the neighborhood. The boy who had slowed down almost to a walk as he approached her thought he had the quick opportunity to pass and hopped up on the stoop next to her to try and run past. In a heartbeat he found himself face first on the sidewalk, his ankle in the air above with the woman's cane still hooked around it. Just as quickly as he went down he hopped up before spitting out some blood where he had landed, shortly thereafter enduring a lecture about respecting his elders as his profusely apologized. With another 'gentle' whack of her cane on his thigh she told him to scurry off and the child was back off, sprinting with only the slightest of a limp.
After what seemed an eternity the boy was finally getting close to the event, he could hear the crowds in the distance and smell all of the meats being cooked out on the street. More and more citizens were congregated and the boy soon found himself squeezing through the masses as the people danced and drank, laughing all the while. Escaping the crowd into an alleyway, gated at the end, the boy wanted to try to gain a better view of the parade and hopefully find a route avoiding the crowds to make his way back home and hopefully finagle a bite to eat on his way there. He clasped the iron bars of the gate, looking up at the pointed tips at the top. Confident in his climbing skills, however, he shimmied his way up and over and soon found himself wandering more alleyways. As in all sections of Ancona the back corridors in between and behind buildings had a strong stench of human waste and the presence of rodents was more than apparent. Unphased, the alleys in his neighborhood having much more rotting in them than just a few heaps of garbage, the boy continued on happy to have gotten himself out of the crowd.
Rounding yet another corner he was faced with the first person since he had climbed the gate. It was a young man with a large black mustache in an Ancona Guard uniform. Spinning around to try and flee the sentry he was met quick with a response, "Oi! You little shit what do you think you're doing back here?!"
The boy stuttered, nervously shaking, as he tried to rebuke and attempted to explain how he was lost and only trying to go home. Once again the boy found himself face down on the cobblestone, this time from a backhand that sent him spinning before he crashed down. This time he was crying as he pulled himself, another kick in the stomach from the guard and he was fully standing sprinting out the way he came.
He could hear as he ran behind, "Get the Hell out of here now, ya bastard! I see you again it will be a closed fist knocking you on your ass and you won't get up."
A drum line pounded their instruments down the cobblestone streets, accompanied by a score of trumpets and the cheers of the crowd, clad in ceremonial dress. Their tall, puffy fur hats bounced along with their step, all the while the ever growing crowd shouting and singing, throwing old shredded newspapers in the air and out of apartment windows. Street vendors and performers weaved through the masses, each one desperately trying to squeeze what ever change they could get from the frugal, hard bargainers that is a Parthonopian customer. At the edge of the crowd, with a backdrop of dilapidated housing and storefronts, food merchants lined the perimeter of the festivities. Every butcher from la Strada Macellai was set up just outside of the archway entrance to the Piazza Castello, having carried tables and supplies down at the crack of the dawn. A generous gift from the Duke of Massa of two thousand pigs for the slaughter a week prior in honor of the Feast of San Angelo had provided for an influx of fresh meat for the three day fair; Anconans not being accustomed to such a large, available supply of meat that was not fish were ecstatic and chalked it up to a miracle blessing of San Angelo.
The prices of fish and chicken were slashed to a quarter of the standard, greater than the half off as per the usual tradition of the feast. Whole salted cods were being tossed about the crowd as elated customers threw coins at fish merchants. A mountain of severed chicken heads piled up at the foot of the statue of King Pietro il giusto as the butchers worked feverishly trying to keep up with demand. Some families were purchasing their meat for the next several months, taking advantage of the deals and the generous spirit of the San Angelo feast. Husbands danced with their wives in the road, young children at their feet and strings of sausages over their shoulders. The butchers from Sorentino's had brought a live pig down to the festival, old Roberto Sorentino himself auctioned it off while standing on a crate before butchering it right there in the street for the winner. It seemed as if everyone in the city was collected in the center as the horde grew, not a soul was eating at home that evening rather grabbing a taste of the finer things in life while it lasted. The crowd was getting rowdier as the afternoon went on, wine and ale merchants quickly selling out and making frequent trips to their shops and breweries to keep their tents stocked. Throngs of local boys were employed for the day scurrying back and forth hauling inventory; two dollars for the day and the boss would back them up if the boys got caught pick pocketing on their routes. The children that had a tad more haggling skills than rest were able to take a bottle or two of the swill home with them, or more than likely to the alleyway that many would congregate and sleep in.
At the heart of the excitement the band procession was passing through il Grande Arco di Trionfo. Directly trailing the band, protected by a contingent of the tallest Ancona Guardsmen adorned in iron chest plates and shining, creaseless kepis, the five foot tall clay depiction of the San Angelo stood riding a wooden stretcher carried by the four tallest Guardsmen. San Angelo, arms extended with his palms facing up, had a small, yet angelic smile on his face despite lacking several toes and his paint faded and chipping. Flower necklaces around his neck and a stack of pink Psilanthum flowers and gold coins scattered at his feet. A top his head was the core of the tradition of the feast, the glistening gold hat forged from the smelted wedding bands, bracelets, watches and earrings of a depressed and desperate for hope Anconan populace shortly after the end of the Parthonopian War of Succession. The Bishop of Ancona along with a retinue of priests and clergy followed the saint, burning incense in a swinging gold thurible censer. At the helm of the parade was another hundred Guardsmen, dressed to their best, marching at a ready arms stance, bayonets equipped. At the very forefront of the column, sword drawn and pressed to the right side of his chest, the man of the hour, the Duke of Ancona Carlo della Ancona. Smiling ear to ear Carlo trotted through the archway, flanked by his father in law as well as the commander of the Ancona Guardsmen.
The crowd cheered, not more than ten feet away from the procession on either side and only parting ahead of it as they approached. They threw their newspaper confetti and children would run up and toss flowers they picked at the statue of San Angelo. Carlo's father in law, the aging, yet ever cheerful, Duke of Massa Egidio Amalia was reaping the full rewards of the peoples enjoyment at his gift to the city. He tossed the glass of free wine to the ground as he finished the last sip and pulled off from the parade to grab some free fresh oysters. The young girl carrying a basket of them around her neck walked backwards ahead of the procession as she took her knife and cracked open an oyster for the Duke and poured some oil and vinaigrette into it.
Egidio sucked the oyster right down and turned to Carlo, "By God you must have one!"
The Ancona Duke seemed reluctant, perhaps questioning the formality of eating oysters while marching in a parade, but nodded in approval as the girl, now walking alongside the Duke of Massa, cracked open another. Carlo sheathed his sword and as she was about to pour in the sauce she excitedly let out, "Bouna fortuna!"
She presented the oyster to the Duke, Carlo took the offering to see a good omen, a little moving pea crab inside the oyster. As if his smile could have grown any more it did and he swallowed the delicious sign of good luck in one motion, a little bit of oil and vinaigrette dripped from his thick graying mustache.
The last of the crowd parted in front of the final gates to the Castello d'Cormor and the two Dukes, the Grand Captain Ongaro, and the cortege behind them were greeted by yet more Guardsmen who opened the towering wrought iron gates. As they entered the Guardsmen in the parade filled into rank and file on either side of the path into the banquet hall entrance of the seat of power in Ancona. The Grand Captain, the primary commander of the Ancona Guardsmen, Vico Bartolomeo Ongaro stayed behind as the rest of the group entered the banquet hall, crossing his arms behind his back and standing at attention facing the crowd as the gates closed. Ongaro was not a truly battle proven commander, having not seen much if any combat during his tenure, yet was an imposing figure and a trusted adviser of Carlo nonetheless. Just standing still, stone faced, he struck a chord of fear in the jubilant people in the crowd who caught eyes with him. Being a man of some height and size, especially for Parthonopian standards, only helped.
Inside of the Castello d'Cormor the Duke Carlo was meeting eyes with his lovely young wife and the rest of his sizeable family alongside her. The importance of this specific Feast of San Angelo, and the reasoning for the excessive festivities in comparison to previous years and especially when compared to the actual capabilities of the Duchy to sustain its people, was that it purposely coincided with the baptism of Carlo's last child, Victoria. In keeping with Parthonopian traditional practices of Verroism, it was a year after she was born that she would receive this sacrament. Victoria's timing on coming into the world on the 14th of March a year earlier prompted Carlo and his wife to celebrate her introduction into the Verro faith as part of the festivities of the yearly feast that takes place the day after.
The room was bustling with the elite of Ancona and neighboring states as well as the noblemen and women of the fiefs and states along the coast and as far north as Sassara in the Duchy of Logoduro. Carlo paid no mind to the prestigious crowd of his guests, however, only keeping his eyes trained on his young baby girl, swaddled in a blank in her mother's arms. The Bishop passed off the censer to a priest and walked along side Carlo to the head of the room where his family stood. On the banquet table in front them was a small bath, a bowl of ashes, a smudge pot with a hot coal in it, and the holy text of Verro. Clergy members were quickly igniting a fire of sage brush and the Psilanthum flowers offered to the saint in the burning pit in the center of the hall as the Bishop commenced with the baptismal ceremony. He read several passages and lead the congregation in a prayer before Carlo himself presented the Bishop with Victoria now out of her blanket and stark naked.
Holding his little girl in the air over the small tub the Bishop wet his fingers in the bath and then placed them in the bowl of ashes. Carlo's thoughts drifted momentarily, staring into the bowl of the remains of his father Vittore as the bishop spread them on his namesakes forehead. He came back quickly and was prompted to hand over Victoria, the Bishop taking her and dunking her underwater for ten seconds while chanting. Placing her on the table momentarily the faith minister picked up the hot coal from the smudge pot with his bare hand and dropped it into the bath, sizzling as it soaked a plume of smoke floated up and quickly dissipated. Chanting all the while, he picked up the baby and once again dunked her in the bath, this time for fifteen seconds before removing her, now crying, and applying another ash symbol on her forehead.
The hall erupted in excitement with the conclusion of the ceremony and the real feast began almost instantly. Carlo handed his daughter off to his wife, Eliza of Massa, with a peck on her cheek and smile before splitting off to mingle with his guests. He took a moment and looked down around him, surrounded by his family from his oldest first born son from his first marriage, Fillip, and his two siblings, Annamaria and Eduordo, to his four youngest born from Eliza, Michele, Cristoforo, Horatio and Victoria. He wondered how he could be so blessed gazing on his offspring when he looked up to a man who had helped provide him with the means for all of this.
"Congratulations, my Lord," A man who truly embodied the stereotype of a short, hairy Parthonopian said cheerily.
"Ignazio!" Carlo exclaimed as he embraced the man and kissed him on both cheeks, "You took good care of my wife and spawns, yes? Haha! Come now let's mingle and drink." Carlo placed his arm over Ignazio's shoulder and guided him towards the current source of attention, the buffet tables. Carlo did not stand much taller than Ignazio but the minor difference was enough for him to confidently impose that superiority on him as well. Ignazio, a man much younger than Carlo, lacked the gray hairs and some of the thickness in his mustache compared to the Duke and sported a cleanly shaven head that would gleam in the sunlight and in the Castello as well were it to have actually sufficient lighting. As the pair approached the food their path was obstructed by the appearance of an even further intoxicated and increasingly cheerful Duke Egidio.
"Carlo, mio fratello! That was a truly beautiful ceremony, son. Each grand baby you and my daughter give me is more beautiful than the last; I thought when four years ago I learned I was given healthy twin baby boys to carry on the line I could die right then and there."
Carlo's face was noticeably getting red, something that would always tend to happen when dealing with his father-in-law for an extended conversation after four in the afternoon. "Yes, thank you Egidio, you flatter me too much. It is your strong genes that made those boys though, not as far back as I can recount has a Ciaia born twins. But, anywho... Egidio have you met the Captain Friuli? Ignazio this is the Duke of Massa, Egidio my friend Ignazio."
Egidio slammed his hand on Carlo's shoulder, rather forcefully for the friendly gesture it was intended to be before taking it off and smacking Ignazio in the stomach with it lightheartedly, "Met him?! You seem to forget I gave him to you, ha! After, well, you know. With your first wife, yes, Luisa. Nonetheless! This boy is the son of a late, great and personally trusted Condottieri commander from back home. Bastard son but what can you expect from Condottieri," Egidio was laughing hysterically, Carlo less amused but chuckling if not at the joke at the very least at how boisterous the Duke of Massa could get. Ignazio grinned and brushed it off, in return patting Egidio on his shoulder.
"So, Carlo, how much did this set you back? Must be a hefty bill, especially with this guest list. Got something to prove to the nobles sonny? Haha!"
"Bah, well the least you both could do," Carlo replied glancing between Egidio and Friuli, "is to pray for rain, a strong one for a few days to clean the streets. If not I'll end up getting the guard out there with hoses and brooms cleaning up all of that pig shit and blood. Lord knows the Ancona coffers are lacking, soon enough I'll have to go into my own funds to upkeep the Guard. I personally bought the brand new kepis and breastplates for the Honor Guard in the parade."
Egidio grabbed two more glasses of wine off a platter a server walking by carried and quickly finished one before she walked away only to give it back and grab another, "Well you did spring to buy up all of the Condottieri from Sanluri to L'Aquila."
"That was Ignaio's idea," Carlo interjected, "and a brilliant one at that. Especially since outlawing the practice of Condottieri in Ancona and you doing so in Massa allowed us to capture a nice chunk of them and put them to work nearly for free. But listen, my friend, we need to be onward now. Eat, drink!" Carlo embraced Egidio and kissed him on his cheek, backing up for Ignazio to follow suit, "But listen! Do not sleep all day tomorrow, you will see why all of these people are here then."
"Bah, I thought that meeting was just some Feast formality! Is it truly that important do I really need to be there? You know I am an old man Carlo, this year I will have sixty-six years in this form, haha!"
"It is important, Egidio, and I need you there by my side. Drink up for now, I will see you in the morning."