Early on the 27th of May, when the first shell was launched on Palermo, Carina was asleep. The cannon boomed again and she put a pillow over her head to block out the noise. A shell screamed over the house, its vibration knocking the clock on the mantelpiece to the floor and she leapt out of bed and ran outside. Her grandmother’s apartments were too low to see the city, but she could hear church bells pealing. They had been silent so long, Carina was terrified they might stop but they were ringing from every quarter of the city. The people had risen in support of the revolution – or else Garibaldi had already captured Palermo!
She was going too fast. If the government had surrendered, the bombing would be over, but the whine of shells started again. The sound of them was ear-splitting as they ripped off roofs and tore masonry apart and one landed so close the house was shaken to its foundations. At any moment the wooden veranda might collapse. How could this be happening? A barrage from the harbour couldn’t reach this far and Carina shook her head in disbelief as she hurried inside.
She had told Pietro and Nella not to come in, but Gino was here. Throwing open the wardrobe doors, she took out the first outfit her hand touched. Without a crinoline, the skirt was too long so she caught up folds of material and tied them in a knot above her knees. Then she found a pair of low-heeled boots and sat down to lace them up before setting off down the dark passage.
Instead of fresh coffee, her nostrils caught the whiff of sulphur as she unbolted the front door. Above the din, Carina heard the whinnying of frightened horses. Gino would be with them in the stables and she called to him. The boom of cannon drowned out her voice so she waited for a lull and then shouted again. There was too much noise and she would have to go and find him. Carina was halfway across the courtyard when a shell exploded outside the walls. Its detonation was so powerful the top of the gate was ripped off and she was thrown backwards. Sitting on the ground, she tasted mortar, thick as chalk in her mouth, and rubbed her sleeve across her face as Gino came running towards her.
‘You must take cover, signorina. In the cellars or the garden?’
Gino helped her to her feet and Carina tried to think. If they received a direct strike, the house would collapse with the cellars buried beneath it. The garden would be safer – but first, she must find out how long the bombardment was likely to last. As she ran up the stairs with Gino beside her, she recalled the day Paulo had shown her his father’s sabre, demonstrating it so carelessly he had cut his hand.
‘Get the count’s hunting guns. Make sure they are loaded! And bring me his sword! The one hanging on the wall.’
It was dark in her old bedroom and Carina stopped to catch her breath. Then she heaved open the shutters. The bells were still ringing and the sound gave her courage as she stepped out onto the balcony. The sky was the colour of blood and the barrage coming from a squadron of Neapolitan battleships outside the harbour. Shells were being launched, not only from the sea but also from higher ground. Everywhere she looked, there was devastation. A gaping hole was gouged out of the church roof and she saw lifeless bodies strewn over the terraces below. Huge tongues of flame leapt in the air, showering cascades of sparks down and setting houses on fire. One shell followed another in quick succession and there would be no end to it until Palermo was flattened!
A sob thickened her throat as Carina went back into the bedroom. God help them all! The Bourbons would rather murder Sicilians than surrender. Should they open the gates and offer refuge to those fleeing from the destruction? The house would be swamped and more killed if they received a direct strike – better they escaped the inferno of the city into the countryside.
She bolted the shutters and headed back, meeting Gino halfway down to the courtyard. He had the sword, but no guns. Her uncle had locked them away or taken them to Naples and the sabre was so heavy she had to use both hands to grasp it by the hilt.
‘Get an axe from the woodshed! They’re killing our people!’
Gino ran down ahead and, as she came to the bottom of the steps, Carina stopped and stared at the gate. There were loud voices outside and a hard object was being rammed into the wood. She stood, petrified, as the hammering went on until the gate caved in and Bavarese mercenaries poured into the courtyard. Their faces were blackened by smoke and their uniforms covered with blood. Drunk on violence and liquor, they were shouting and raising their fists in the air. Then they caught sight of her and fell silent. One of them swaggered forward and spat on the ground at her feet.
Carina looked at his filthy beard and greedy expression and such anger filled her that terror fell away. She lifted the sabre so the blade was pointing at his heart, her eyes like fire in her white face. As the mercenary made a lunge, a volley of shots rang out and the man’s face snatched sideways. He leapt in the air and then fell at her feet with half his head blown off.
The sabre dropped from her hands as more shots were fired. All around her was a kaleidoscope of movement and noise. Chunks of masonry came crashing down and a hand caught her by the arm and pulled her out of the way. Carina glimpsed a hunter’s black hat and the red tunic of the Garibaldini. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. The courtyard was crowded with Redshirts and the Bavarese were being rounded up. She stared at them stupidly before turning to the slender figure beside her.
‘By the devil!’ Enrico Fola’s expression was thunderstruck. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
Enrico and his troops gathered around her and the dead soldier was dragged away. His body left a trail of blood on the ground and Carina thought she might be sick. Gino appeared with the axe, jaw dropping as he took in the scene.
‘Why aren’t you with the British contingent?’ Enrico asked curtly.
‘I was offered a berth on Admiral Mundy’s flagship …’
‘Then why the hell didn’t you take it?’
His harshness so unnerved her, Carina nearly burst into tears. ‘I thought … the bombardment couldn’t reach us …’
Enrico appeared to be in charge and yet uncertain what to do. Carina stood twisting her hands until one of the soldiers shouted the grounds were clear and he made up his mind.
‘You’ll have to come with us. Leave your man here to guard the house. We’ll give him guns and ammunition. Get your stuff – but only as much as you can carry in one hand – and hurry!’
Enrico was pale but his voice rang with authority and Carina dashed down the passage to her bedroom. She collected a few belongings, stuffing them into a bag, and hurried back. A makeshift attempt had been made to repair the gate and Gino was armed with Bavarese guns. Carina spoke briefly to him and then followed Enrico outside.
He broke into a run and they headed downhill, avoiding the streets crowded with people fleeing the bombardment. Adrenaline gave strength to her legs so Carina managed to keep up until they reached the ancient quarter where Enrico slowed to a walk. The thunder of cannon seemed further away in this no-man’s-land. Faces peered out from behind half-closed shutters before they moved quickly out of sight. Then, without warning, Enrico halted. Carina looked over his shoulder and saw they had come to a wide street.
Stretched across the road and less than thirty paces away, an overturned cart formed the basis of a barricade. An assortment of planks and barrels were piled on top and it was manned by Redshirts. There seemed to be a hiatus in the fighting until shell rocketed out of the sky and exploded in front of them. Cobbles were torn up and shrapnel rained down, but no one moved until Enrico gave the command.
‘Avanti! To the barricade!’
One moment they were squashed together in a doorway and the next bolting down the street with Carina dashing after them. As she reached the barricade, a sharp pain tore into her upper arm. Enrico threw her to the ground, protecting her with his body. There was blood seeping through her dress and he cut the sleeve from cuff to shoulder.
‘Let’s hope it’s only a flesh wound. I’ll bandage it, as best as I can.’
He worked fast, wrapping a tourniquet tight around her arm before he climbed up to join the others. The Redshirts were returning fire, standing up and ducking down, while she crouched beneath the ramshackle structure. Bullets ricocheted around her and fusillade seemed to go on forever until the gunfire ceased. Carina heard cheering and lifted her head. Enrico came down and helped her to her feet and her eyes went from his face to the men on the barricade. They were waving their muskets and clapping each other on the back. Enrico was laughing and then she was laughing too, the pain in her arm forgotten as she threw her arms about his neck.
‘We must hurry to the Piazza Pretoria,’ Enrico said, disengaging himself. ‘Before the day’s out we shall raise the tricolour in Palermo!’
Carina’s heart was on fire as she fell into step with the men. Enrico could have led her through the gates of Hell and she would have followed him. For the rest of her life she would remember this day, she thought, marching through the streets of Palermo with the applause of a free people ringing in her ears. Women and children stood on the balconies, shouting greetings while boys in rags ran on ahead, turning somersaults as if leading a military band in a carnival. When a shell landed not far in front, a young boy sprinted forwards and threw himself onto the smoking missile. He extracted the fuse and then leapt high in the air, holding the piece in his hand – to be rewarded by clapping and cheering for his daring performance.
Arriving in the Piazza Pretoria, the atmosphere was markedly different. The square was crammed and the hot sun beat down on an army of wounded and exhausted men. Injured soldiers sat with their weapons at their feet, passing water skins from one to another as donkey carts arrived with more casualties. Redshirts on stretchers were passed over the heads of the crowd and Carina saw a soldier, with skin hanging off his face and blood pouring down his neck. He seemed to be staring at her before his knees buckled and he went down in the dust. Suddenly she began to shake uncontrollably. Afraid she might collapse, she undid the knot in her skirt, letting it fall to the ground.
‘Where are the casualties being taken? I’d like to help …’
‘That won’t be necessary, ma’am,’ the officer with Enrico answered. ‘Garibaldi has set up a hospital in the Royal Palace. We have more nursing volunteers than we need.’
‘You’re in need of medical attention yourself, Carina. I’ve friends to take care for you.’ Enrico took her bag and turned to the officer. ‘May I leave my platoon under your command? I must see to my companion.’
She was relieved, dammit! She was worn to the bone and her arm throbbing. Carina longed to breathe fresh air and escape the misery surrounding her. She was so weak that Enrico put his arm round her waist, supporting her as they picked their way between rows of casualties.
‘I’m taking you to my old tutor and his wife. You’ll stay with them until the bombardment is over.’
Carina was too dazed to answer. They came to a side street where it was cooler and stopped in front of a house at the far end. Enrico used the stock of his musket to bang on the door. The shutters were closed and he hammered again, shouting to those inside.
‘Enrico Fola wishes to speak to Monsieur Carot. Please open the door!’
There were voices inside speaking in French; a man’s raised in argument and the quieter tones of a woman. A few moments later Carina heard the creak of bolts being drawn. The door opened a hand’s width and an elderly gentleman peered through the gap. He might have shut the door in their faces if Enrico hadn’t placed his foot across the threshold.
‘It’s me, maitre! Enrico Fola at your service. Please don’t be alarmed. I beg your assistance. This young woman is injured.’
Monsieur Carot’s spectacles slid from his nose to hang from a chain around his neck as he stared at Enrico. ‘I cannot believe it! Does your father know about this?’
‘My father’s in Naples. I’m in charge for the present.’
‘But you’re … you’re …’
‘I am myself, dear friend. May I present Miss Temple – the granddaughter of Contessa Denuzio.’
It was absurd to be making formal introductions at such a time, Carina thought, as Enrico’s hand pressed into the small of her back. He pushed her forwards and Monsieur Carot stepped out into the street, looking one way and then the other.
‘First the bombardment – and now the red devils camped next door! I never thought I’d live to see this day. You, Monsieur Enrico! You in Garibaldi’s uniform!’
He bent to draw the locks but Enrico put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I can’t stay, but I’d be grateful if you could provide for my friend. She needs medical attention—’
‘La pauvre petite!’ Madame Carot came bustling through, taking in the situation at a glance. ‘Don’t you fret, Henri. I’ll take care of her, Monsieur Enrico – be off with you now and don’t bring any of your new friends back with you. Where are you hurt, young lady?’
She spoke to all three of them in the same breath, her eyes on Carina as she led her to a chair. ‘You’re very pale, my dear. You should sit down.’
Madame produced a phial from her pocket, which she uncorked and waved under Carina’s nose. The smelling salts cleared her head and Carina caught Enrico’s quick smile before he lowered his head and stepped into the street. She wanted to tell him to be careful, but the door slammed shut and Monsieur Carot slid the bolts before she could get the words out of her mouth.