The Collaborator by SEYMOUR GERALD

Author:SEYMOUR, GERALD [SEYMOUR, GERALD]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9781848946217
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2009-09-16T22:00:00+00:00

She had made her own world and stayed inside it. She didn’t need panted conversation with Alessandro Rossi, wouldn’t stop, slump and have Giacomo Orecchia give her water. Sweat soaked her.

It was a city of betrayal, hers. Had been throughout the centuries of its history, and she thought herself a mere footnote. Betrayal was the ultimate weapon of the clans. It meant nothing, went against no culture. She took a text, an episode of the city’s history, better to remember betrayal.

She stretched her stride and couldn’t hear panting in Alessandro Rossi, but she could in Giacomo Orecchia and his wheeze went with the shriller wail of his bicycle wheels. She had learned the text as a child at school. In the year of 1486, a day in August, when Naples was further forward in architectural standards, sophistication and wealth than anywhere else in Europe, King Ferrante I of Aragon, the ruler, invited the aristocracy, who, he believed, were plotting his overthrow, to the Castel Nuovo on the shore to witness the marriage of his granddaughter to the heir of the Coppola family. They came. After the marriage service they attended a banquet in the great hall. Near the end of the feast, the king’s lord chamberlain read out the names on the arrest warrants: all of the nobility’s names were heard. The Royal Guard came in and took them into custody. That day they were tried and – before sunset – they met the king’s executioner in the yard below the castle’s ramparts. They would have betrayed the king, so the king betrayed them. It was a good story, and one from the history of her city.

She ran well.

Immacolata could not have held that pace, and kept the length of her stride, without the escort behind her. She thought herself liberated. Nothing nagged in her mind. London was behind her, and the boy, and there was a new intoxication – the betrayal. She didn’t concern herself with Eddie Deacon. She hadn’t asked him to travel, hadn’t summoned him. She thought her hair flew behind her, and still there was the wail of the bicycle wheels, and she thought that, for the first time, Rossi struggled. Those betrayed were fools to have trusted; those who betrayed were tacticians and without guilt.

She ran until they called the halt.

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