New rounds of applause arose, whistles, some raspberries and a belch. I saw Atto stand on tiptoe to scan the hellish horde of cerretani.
"It is time," said he to Buvat as the turmoil of acclamations continued to rage. "Take care not to be seen, or we're done for."
The secretary moved off towards the middle of the amphitheatre which, as I had seen, was full of old firewood and other rubbish and happened at that moment to be almost deserted, since almost all those present at the meeting had gradually gathered around the dais where the new Maggiorengo-General sat. It seemed to me that there was a kind of bulge under Buvat's cassock and I remembered that I had noticed something of the sort under his usual tail coat when we sat in the carriage.
"Caligula was more of a scoundrel than a canter," the Maggiorengo continued undaunted, "and that was his ruination. Nero was the great canter whose renown we all know, but as he was above all a glutton, he's not of much interest to us. Needless to say, all those other great emperors, the Tituses, the Vespasians, the Ottos, the Trajans, right down to our own day, were born and lived as canters. And the better they were at canting, the more dignified and valiant they were as emperors. He who is not, has not been and will not be a canter will never enjoy power, wealth or dignity. One cannot be virtuous nor can one excel in any science unless one follow the Way of the Canters. It is holy, because in it there is faith, love and charity; it is divine because it renders men immortal; it is blessed because it makes men rich and powerful. From the Way, all pleasures derive, all consolations and all amusements, right down to games like tarot and piastrelle. Remember! The real canter is loved, revered, courted, and desired by all, even if they don't all want to show it. Let everyone therefore embrace the Way of the Canters, place their trust in it and make it their capital. Let everyone exercise and refine how he does his canting, as does the rascal Lucazzo who's sprawling here just next to me, who cheats, steals and begs with the same art as the Cavalier Bernini designed his statues. Through the Way of the Canter, each of us can become a poet, an orator, a philosopher and, in principle, a gentleman, even a king or an emperor. Long live the canters! And you will see that destiny will soon send us a sign of its favours!"
"Don't worry, I'll send you that now," said Atto, as a deafening burst of cries, clapping and whistles greeted the conclusion of the speech.
"What's Buvat gone off to do?" I asked in a whisper.
"Telemachus."
Too late I understood what was about to happen; and that was just as well. The suspense of waiting might have been too much for me.
It all happened in a matter of moments. First came a terrifying explosion, almost like the rumble of an earthquake. I glanced at Ugonio, who was still perched on the platform, and our gazes met somewhere above the multitude of the cerretani, all excited by the speech which had just ended, then suddenly paralysed. Then came another, even more tremendous deflagration.
The noisome greyish mass of the cerretani spilled out in all possible directions, some jumping in the air for shock, some throwing themselves to the ground, the others scattering to the four winds.
Came the third explosion, which prevented the sordid mob from recovering their senses. This time, however, as well as the thunderous bang, there opened above our heads a marvellous purple flower, illuminating the cerretano horde, quite unworthy of such dazzling beauty, with great flashes of carmine and vermilion. The reddish globes which had multiplied in flight above the amphitheatre opened up into as many luminous corollas which descended gently to the ground, at last forlornly dying.
The name of the first two infernal machines said it alclass="underline" Earthquake.
Before leaving, Atto had sent Buvat to Don Paschatio to ask whether any fireworks remained from the evening before. He had been far-sighted. Buvat had got the Major-Domo to explain to him in detail how to light the fireworks (fortunately, there was no lack of fire at the meeting of the cerretani) and how to handle them before use: no dampness, no excessive movement, and keep them upright at all times (as I had heard Don Paschatio say when we were on the point of leaving). Usually, the Earthquake is used to bring the pyrotechnical display to a triumphant close, by which time the ears are accustomed to the thundering noise of explosions. Buvat, however, had shattered the eardrums of the gathering, taking them by complete surprise, and the shock was redoubled by the funnel shape of the amphitheatre. After the two Earthquakes, Buvat had set off a real multicoloured firework.
Abbot Melani's technique, as he himself had just announced to me, had been that of Telemachus, the son of Ulysses who — according to what Albicastro had reminded us of the day before — had feigned madness before the assembly of his mother's suitors and thus had delivered them helpless and unprepared into his father's vengeful hand.
Atto's calculations had proved completely accurate. The cerretani were behaving just like the suitors of Homeric lore: despite the confusion, no one had come down from the dais, neither the Maggiorengo-General, nor his two colleagues, nor Drehmannius, the Dutch bookbinder. Faced with the fireworks, they were plainly unsure whether this was a joke, a pleasant surprise spectacle or a threat. Ugonio obviously was by their side and he was as rapid as he was precise. When the red rocket rose in the sky, followed by all the noses in the amphitheatre, the corpisantaro's clawed hands were already deep in the bookbinder's bag, removing his book and replacing it with the one which Melani had handed him in the carriage. The two small volumes were identicaclass="underline" it can not have been difficult for Atto and Buvat to find another book of similar dimensions with an unmarked vellum cover, just like the one which the Abbot had commissioned poor Haver to make for his treatise.
"Use one Dutchman to hunt the other," Abbot Melani had said enigmatically not long before. Now I understood: thanks to the words of Albicastro, we had taken the treatise on the Secrets of the Conclave from Dremannius's bag.
In the festive but still somewhat stunned crowd of th e cerretani, everyone was asking his neighbour who had had the fine idea of setting off fireworks.
"Let's go, Signor Atto."
"We can't yet. We must wait until… Buvat! There you are, damn it! Let's get out of here."
"What about Ugonio?" I asked.
I looked at the platform. The corpisantaro had turned his back on us. The message could not have been clearer. We must leave the amphitheatre on our own; he would take another route.
We hastened towards the secret door.
"Not like that, not like that," whispered Atto. "Look at me."
Instead of turning his head in the opposite direction from the crowd, Abbot Melani was walking backwards, with his face directed towards the platform, so as to merge in with all those around us.
Too late. The half-naked cerretano who had been keeping an eye on us had seen me and Buvat and was now trying to point out our position to a pair of ugly great brutes. The two stared intensely into the teeming multitude in search of our trio. In the end, they identified us and I saw them set off determinedly after us.
"Signor Atto, they've sent two fellows to catch us," I announced, as we continued our difficult task of making our way through the crowd while showing no signs of haste.
The distance between us and the pair who were hunting us down decreased rapidly. Forty paces. Fifteen. The door leading to the secret passage through the rock was in sight. Ten paces from the brutes. Eight.