The Miracles of Santo Fico

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Authors: D. L. Smith
Tags: FIC026000
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wasn’t about to give up his command position at center stage. He did, however, graciously accept their offer of some wine, and then right on cue someone at another table asked where he had learned such wonderful English. Leo explained about his years in America. He was disappointed that none of his audience had been to Chicago or knew anything about baseball, but he quickly reasoned that although talk of Chicago and baseball would be wonderful, it would only distract from his greater purpose. Business was business.
    The older villagers had guessed where all this was leading when Leo had entered the room and it made them proud to see one of their own socializing with this battalion of strangers—even though they had no idea what was being said. Leo was speaking for them all and proving that they were smart and worldly and had good manners and some even wore linen suits and ties. Really, the only person having any problem right now was the guide. He was wondering why, if Carmen liked him so much, had she just poured a small pitcher of Chianti in his lap?
    Leo addressed the crowd.
    “I did not mean to interrupt’a your lunch, but I thought’a your question was a good one. Why? Why Santo Fico? Why here? Well, the answer is’a strange. It happened a long time ago, hundreds of’a years. It is, in fact, a sort of . . . magical story about faith and blessed saints, and noblemen, and wars, and miracles . . . If you would’a like to hear . . . ?”
    The response was unanimous and sincere. Not only was this pleasantly disheveled character not going to make trouble, he was actually offering them a marvelous diversion—a history of the region.
    Amid this hail of approval, Topo made his way to the last empty stool at the bar and gave Leo a quick wink and thumbs-up. It was just an instant of recognition, but Carmen noticed it and recalled how Topo had raced out of the hotel earlier. Something was going on and she didn’t like it. Leo watched Carmen make her way toward the kitchen door and thought— Oh God, she’s going to tell Marta. But there was nothing he could do now, as the room was already hushed in anticipation. Leo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and became strangely distant—as if he was recalling some blurred memory.
    “It was’a over four hundred years ago . . . this month. The great Cosimo de Medici was the Duke of Firenze, what-you-call . . . Florence. It was a time when Firenze was at war with the great city of Siena. Now, this’a war lasted many years and like all terrible wars, it was the cause of many regrets, many tragedies, and even a few miracles . . .”
    Leo moved through the room, weaving a stirring tale of how the courageous Duke Cosimo was a flame that lit the fire of the final terrible battle of Siena. He described how Cosimo’s exhausted troops, so far from their home and for so long chancing death, grew discouraged as, day after day, they threw their bodies against the stubborn walls of Siena. Leo thrilled them with his account of how, on one fateful day, astride his valiant white stallion, Cosimo inspired his forces with a heroic speech—though more than a few in this English audience found it surprisingly similar to Henry the
    Fifth’s call to arms before the battle of Agincourt.
    Leo described how Cosimo recklessly charged his proud horse ahead of his troops and, brandishing his broadsword as if it were a dagger, fought back the startled defenders. The hearts of the listeners pounded when Leo, as if he had been a witness to the fateful moment, described how a lone archer shooting from a distant tower loosed a shaft that caught the great Cosimo full in the chest.
    Neither breath nor breeze dared to stir; all were captured by the mortal plight of the great Duke in the very city that they had visited just one day earlier. Many found it amazing that in their time in Siena not a single tour or guidebook mentioned any of this wonderful history. Even the local villagers, who didn’t

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