A Dancer in Darkness by David Stacton Page B

solution.
    The world of Amalfi was a small world, and a narrow one inthe physical sense. High on the left cliff stood the monastery of the Cappuccini; but apart from that the town huddled along the shore. Everyone knew everyone else by sight. There was no privacy there, and the Duchess was in need of diversion.
    But above the yellow cliffs lay the mountain uplands, almost uninhabited, and little explored. There were vestigial forests there, small pools and brooks, and open fields which seemed to rock, in that intense light, high above the waveless sea. There was small game among those trees, and the privacy of the open countryside.
    “Why not”, said Cariola, “go hawking.”
    “I know nothing of hawking.”
    “You know how to ride. Leave the hawking to the hawk.”
    The Duchess would never have thought of it. Her heart sprang up. If she went hawking, it would be natural that she should take Antonio in her company. Now she might meaninglessly see him every day, for though there were other men at court who knew something of falconry, they were too old to wish to ride; and besides, intrigue kept them on a short leash. They could not bear to be away from their little plots for long. And such as would come would soon be left panting plumply behind. She thought all that and did not think of it at all. But she smiled. The idea appealed to her.
    “I could not do that,” she told Cariola. “What would people say?”
    “You are pale indoors,” said Cariola. “The air would do you good.”
    The Duchess shrank from the idea. She knew she was watched. She must do nothing unusual, or there would be trouble in it. She shook her head and said no.
    The art of falconry had fallen into disfavour. It was no longer either the fashionable nor the customary thing to do. But this was the country for it. There was even a falconry attached to the palace. A week later she went down there.
    It was a low, dank room attached to the stables, dusty, with a straw floor, and one narrow window high up, through which the light slid down the air. She went there on impulse, leaving the door open behind her. Most of the perches were empty, but there were three or four birds there, moving restively on theirperches, their hoods giving them the heads of enlarged blue-bottles . The alley between the benches on which the perches stood was narrow. There was scarcely room for her dress. The hooded heads looked testicular. The beaks protruded beneath ravenously, like those old Germanic pictures of hell, in which the devils have rending beaks instead of pudenda. One of the hoods had only to come loose, and they would attack her. They were furious with confinement, that taut, motionless fury that is the sure promise of violence. Her skirt caught on a leather jess, and its bells tinkled. The birds jumped up and down, and she moved away.
    A shadow darkened the doorway. As soon as she saw the silhouette she knew instantly who it was. She drew a little back.
    “I’ve done my best for them, but they need exercise,” said Antonio. He was laughing. It was the first time he had ever spoken to her informally. His voice had a velvet burr, and his words flooded out over his emotions, like water over stones, tossing them about. She found his voice beautiful.
    “I’ve never been here,” she said.
    “These were excellent birds once. But too old. You can get better at Salerno.”
    “So you know about hawking, too.”
    “Not very much,” he said. But his voice was full of affection and pleasure. He seemed awkward for a moment, and then put one of the birds on his wrist, stroking it. She watched the movement of his hand. In the dim light it was a white blur. She was glad they could not see each other very well, and sorry there was but one way out of the shed. She wanted to flee. Instead she said:
    “Order them. From Salerno. We will go hawking.”
    She felt rather than saw him smile, and realized that she had pleased him quite by accident. It was a long time since she