Emilio De Bono stood staring at the creature in the arms of the blackshirt that was quietly feeding it with a bottle of goat's milk. It was most similar to a minuscule foal, but even that was just an approximation: the colours of its coat and mane, even with the muck staining them, were simply not possible were it a horse. If anything, the striped mane and tail were as absurd as the stripes on a zebra.
Along with the colours, the thing only passed as a foal in the broadest sense. The snout was a tiny thing, and the head was far too large and round for it to be an actual equine. Those purple eyes, asides from being too big relative to the head, held a startling amount of intelligence behind them. It wasn't like peering into a dog's eyes, but into those of a newborn child. To top it all off, the creature had tiny feathered wings and a stub that could only be described as a budding horn akin to that of unicorns.
If De Bono hadn't known any better, he would have suspected a particularly devious prankster who dyed a deformed foal and added a horn and wings to have a laugh.
He rubbed his temples. "And it was crying?" he asked again, getting the same tired nods from the fascist leaders. "Like a child?" More nods. He looked over the contented... foal. Foal was probably the best term, he supposed. De Bono stared as the foal blinked and gazed this way and that, all while still being fed by Adalberto.
"And why did you bring it here?" he asked, shifting his stare towards the Duce, who was slumped on a chaise.
Mussolini had changed his dusty uniform for a civilian suit, but there were grimy handprints on the linen of the jacket. Those stains and the bags underneath his eyes were unbecoming for the fascist leader, for they made him look like a poor vagabond wearing his best suit.
"Her," he corrected, prompting a few raised eyebrows. "If you know anything about genitals, you can clearly see that it's a female." Nobody decided to ask the Duce as to how he was privy to the foal's sex.
Probably for the best, Emilio conceded, looking for the tell-tale signs of the foal's sex.
"Perhaps it's a hermaphrodite?" Balbo suggested. Seeing the confused looks about him, he huffed. "I mean, think about it. It's something close to Pegasus from Greek mythology. Perhaps it may look like a filly, but it's actually both and neither, like Pegasus."
A new round of examination over the foal passed by, eased by Adalberto holding it by the barrel and letting the legs and tail dangle in the air. It ended when Cesare, deadpan, said, "I don't see a pecker there, Balbo. It's definitely a girl."
There was a snort from Bianchi, but the atmosphere still remained reasonably sober.
That is until the filly let out a tiny burp, much to the visible surprise of her caretaker.
"Horses don't belch," Michele said incredulously.
"Of course they don't," Mussolini suddenly piped up, groaning as he rose from the chaise. "This isn't a horse, or have you perhaps seen one with a pink coat and striped violet tail and mane? Oh, and let's not forget the wings and the horn!"
At the outburst, the filly ceased feeding to look at the man. Seeing this, he paused, watching the foal continue staring before seeking her bottle of milk to which Adalberto quickly provided.
Emilio shook his head. "I swear; that foal has the eyes of a newborn."
"It looks like a newborn, sir," Adalberto pointed out.
"Yes, but I meant a human newborn." The older fascist waved his hand. "Sure, the eyes are much larger, but you can see intellect behind them. Real intellect." He turned to Mussolini. "Why did you bring it here?" he asked again.
Benito ran his hands down his face. "I'm—" He yawned. "I couldn't leave her."
It sounded like a poor excuse, but it was the truth. Benito didn't know why and he couldn't explain it; Mussolini had felt stunned when he first understood what he was dealing with, but by the time Benito had gotten out from underneath the wall, he hurriedly ordered the blackshirts to surround him and promptly left in a hurry, foal in hand with one single purpose in mind: get back to the hotel. He didn't even deign a response to the protests and surprised yelps of the firefighters and civilians.
Figuring out how to get her to stop her wailing was an endeavour in it of itself. Once they had figured out that the filly was hungry, there were few suggestions to solve this conundrum. The advice of getting a nursing mare was immediately rejected for obvious reasons.
It was Balbo who had thought of finding a baby bottle with milk to feed the foal. Thankfully, the hotel had ample goat's milk in their storage, and the cries soon came to an end.
Cesare hummed. "Well, it's here. What should we do with it?"
Mussolini pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know," he half-whispered.
"Who's going to be responsible for it?" De Bono asked.
Benito glanced at Adalberto, who had just finished feeding the foal. Closing his eyes, he repeated, "I don't know."
"Should we name her?"
Everyone turned to the blackshirt. Adalberto didn't flinch at the sudden attention and said, "Sirs, so long as she's in our care, we ought to give her a name, right?"
The Squadristi commander scoffed. "We don't even know if we're keeping it." He crossed his arms. "I say we should sell it to an institute. Can you imagine how many liras she's worth?"
Adalberto grimaced but otherwise did not say anything. Emilio seemed to entertain the notion, whereas both Balbo and Bianchi looked to Mussolini. "The Congress has eaten through our budget, and we're in need for more," Michele admitted.
Once again, all eyes were on the Duce. He scratched at his chin, trying to clear his mind. The fascist found his thoughts sluggish and unclear. He said nothing for several long seconds, failing to find any faults in De Vecchi's suggestion. Perhaps it was the only reasonable course of action, after all.
That was when the foal began to cry again.
Emilio's eyes widened at hearing the filly wail for the first time. Cesare recoiled away from Adalberto, clasping his ears. "Damnit man, shut that thing up!" he growled.
Struggling with the fidgeting foal, Adalberto did his best to cradle her, but with no success. He shook his head. "I don't know how to, sir."
All of the fascists except for Cesare and De Bono began to huddle around the blackshirt, trying to figure out how to calm the foal down. "Maybe it needs to let out some air?" Balbo suggested, raising his voice to surpass that of the filly.
Adalberto nodded sluggishly and let the wailing creature on his shoulder and tried to pat at her back. The cries only intensified.
"You idiot, you're hitting the wings!" Michele said, grabbing at the foal. Caught unaware by the sudden move, the blackshirt unconsciously tightened his grip, making Bianchi pull with unintended force.
The volume grew to unbearable levels. Both Adalberto and Bianchi reached for their ears and dropped the foal. The baby fell for a good meter before its fall was broken not by the floor, but by Benito's arms.
He didn't know how he managed to react that quickly, but Benito did not waste time wondering. He was quick to turn the filly on her stomach so that she lay on his forearm, and her head rested on the crook of his arm. Mussolini supported the leg with the same hand, using his free hand to caress her neck and between the wing joints.
The effect was immediate: the cries diminished to sobs; the legs grew limp; the wings drooped. Within seconds the filly had calmed down entirely.
Mussolini sighed a breath of relief and carefully shifted the weight, turning the baby and drawing her to his chest. Once satisfied that he had a good hold on her, Benito looked up to see a room of stunned fascists. Even Cesare's lips were slightly parted.
"How…?" Balbo's voice fell.
Benito cleared his throat. "I used to be a father," he explained. "That was a long time ago, though." A yawn escaped his lips as he turned to Adalberto and Bianchi. "But that's beside the point. You two ought to be more—"
A quiet yawn interrupted the Duce; he looked to see the filly closing her mouth with the vestiges of a yawn, shifting her head against his chest and fell asleep. For the first time, Benito felt the warmth of the foal and the faint beat of her heart. Her only movements were the steady rise and fall of her barrel. Hesitantly, he pushed aside a lock of the mane from the front of her peaceful face.
The silence that dominated the room felt loud in contrast to the previous racket, but it was a welcome change, and for a moment, Benito felt… right. It was a sensation similar to the one that he experienced years ago when he first held his newborn. He looked at the foal but saw a baby in need. Perhaps…?
"Duce?"
Mussolini looked up to Balbo. The aviator cracked a smile. "Seems like she likes you."
Benito felt a smile of his own forming. "She does, doesn't she?" He glanced back at the sleeping form and gently ran a finger along the messy mane. "I suppose that she can recognize an important person," he joked.
"Well, Duce?" Cesare said. "Should I call a car to get it to the university? I think that I can find someone there who'd pay well." Seeing the sleeping foal, he added, "Or maybe you've got something else in mind?"
Mussolini stared at Cesare before returning his gaze on the filly. She was still soundly asleep, her head resting on one of his breast pockets.
"I think..." he stopped, focusing once more at Cesare. "I think I'll sleep on this. Adalberto," he called, prompting the blackshirt to stand to attention. "See if you can get a blanket, a pillow, or better yet, a crib with both of them."
Adalberto thrust his arm and exited the room. Balbo shook his head, grinning all the while. "Seems like there's a soft side to you, after all, Duce."
Benito suspected that under most circumstances, he would have scoffed at the suggestion. A fascist cared yes, but he was strong and resolute first, for that was the real strength of fascism.
And yet, he couldn't disagree with Italo, opting to simply shrug instead.
"Without compassion, how can one truly know their own strength?" he said, chuckling softly to himself. "Italy needs a government that is strong, but one that is also understanding, and she" —Benito raised the filly— "shall be the embodiment of that government."
Nobody seemed to know how to react to that. Michele immediately nodded his agreement, even though he didn't seem to understand just what the Duce had meant by that. Emilio and Italo both exchanged curious expressions.
De Vecchi sighed. "How the hell will I explain this to the men?" he muttered resignedly, massaging his temples.
When Mussolini woke, he immediately knew that he had not slept enough. Were it not for the alarm clock he would have considered staying in bed: he had a rough night after all. Grumbling to himself, Benito knew that he had a train to catch, so he sloughed off his bedsheets.
As he rose, he heard faint singing from outside. It took a moment for Benito to recognize the chorus group attached to the Squadristi as it wasn't singing any of the usual chants that he had heard countless times.
In fact, as he listened more closely as he made for his wardrobe, the Duce started to make out one of the verses:
"Alicorno, alicorno;
"Bundle of joy and beauty;
"Smiling to all nearby;
"Your laugh rings and goes!"
It was a different version of Giovinezza, Mussolini realized as he began to wear a shirt and trousers. Alicorno? he wondered while working the buttons on his pants. What were they referring to?
Just as he put on an overcoat and as the song went back to the main verse did realization dawn upon Benito. He chuckled: Guess Cesare managed to break the news to his men, after all, Benito thought. He checked himself in front of a body mirror before making his way out of the room. He passed by and was saluted by a large gathering of blackshirts in the lobby.
The air outside was just as chilly as during the night. With the sun beginning to peek above the Vesuvius, however, it promised to be a warm day. He idly wondered what the weather would be like in Rome once he would arrive.
Mussolini found most of the Quadrumvirate (Bianchi was conspicuous by his absence) standing at the sidewalk by the entrance, seemingly enthralled by the chorus. Approaching from behind, he was about to ask Balbo what was happening. He was instead fixated on a small pink form sitting next to Adalberto that sang along with the dozen blackshirts.
Nobody took notice of the Duce's arrival, and the altered Giovinezza continued with what sounded like improvised verses, all relating to the filly who was…
Benito almost did a double-take as he saw the foal bobbing her head in the rhythm of the beat of the song, now thoroughly cleaned, and with what was definitely a smile on her small snout.
A nearby blackshirt turned his head for a moment and was startled by the Duce's presence. "Evviva il Duce!" he proclaimed, arm thrust upwards in salute. Every fascist in the street, including the chorus group, stopped and turned, saluting as one and chanting, "Viva il Duce!"
The greeting was overwhelming being in the middle of it with so many voices and arms, but Mussolini managed to keep his authoritative poise. Smiling and saluting the closest blackshirts, he and the Quadrumvirate negotiated their way through their crowd. He knew that the men were expecting a speech from him, but right then, he had something else on his mind.
Fortunately, the foal stood close to Adalberto, and they were given some breathing room. Amongst the strikes of heels against the road, Mussolini was surprised to hear a baby-like giggle from the filly. With him approaching, Adalberto saluted himself before picking the foal up.
"How is she?" Benito asked.
Adalberto beamed. "She loves the attention," he replied, allowing the filly to wiggle her legs, "and the men love her back."
Mussolini chuckled. "She seems to be quite the hit all right," he said, offering a finger to the foal that she tried to suckle on. "Alicorno?" he asked.
"Yessir." The blackshirt used his free hand to scratch at the filly's ears to which she shrieked with pleasure. "The men came up with the name."
There was a sideways tug at the Duce's lips. "Not a bad name for the species," he muttered. "She still needs a proper name."
"Have you thought of one, Duce?"
Mussolini did not respond, only offering a smile to the alicorno. She returned it with a giggle. Satisfied, Benito turned to the Quadrumvirate and said, "Come along now. Let's not keep the men waiting. You too, Adalberto."
"But, Duce… the train?"
Turning to the nonplussed blackshirt, he offered him and the nearby men his best smile. "It seems that my discreet departure will have to wait."
A converted Fiat truck had the back removed to act as an impromptu stage, and Benito, Balbo, De Bono, and De Vecchi climbed on. Adalberto hesitated at first, but at the Duce's encouraging smile, climbed on as well, carrying the filly all the while.
The sight of their leaders and their newest mascot sent the fascists into applause, a particularly loud one at that. Flashes of light from with the crowd told Mussolini that there were a good number of photographers in the audience, just as he liked it. He brought his hands up to abate the cheering.
"Fascists of Italy!" he said in a loud, clear voice. "The time of grandiose speeches has passed with the Congress. And as we all know, the time for action is now." Benito paused to wet his dried lips. "I am needed elsewhere, but our plans will still continue. I leave you with some of the most capable fascists to prepare for our march!" With a wave, Mussolini introduced the Quadrumvirate leaders.
A new bout of cheers rang out. There were waves of Roman salutes from the sea of blackshirts, and from the islands of civilians that attended. Scattered black flags of the PNF flew high above the audience.
The numbers seemed to be roughly equal to those in the last two days, but Mussolini noticed that there were considerably fewer local residents this time.
He wanted to scowl at the lack of local support. As much as he wished he could not go back in time and prevent his men from killing that woman. The assistance lent by the PNF with last night's building collapse was probably the only reason that there were any Neapolitans present to begin with. Benito took solace in the apparent fervour of those few supporters that had shown up.
The applause ebbed away, and he resumed. "Speed is imperative for the coming days, for we cannot hope that our enemies shall sit idly by while we work to seize Rome. As such, even if I may not be there to watch over you, I expect that not a single one of you shall delay, for if we linger for too long..." Benito threw his head back, jutting out his chin before raising a clenched fist and shaking it. "Saremmo tutti accoppati!"
That reference to the famous Arditi motto struck a chord, as the fascists erupted in acclamation. With so many former Arditis being fascists, stirring the people's memory of Italy's most elite was always a dependable tactic to rouse a crowd, even from those Arditis who were not fascists.
Mussolini kept his aggressive stance even though the chants of 'Duce' made him smile inside: he knew that they were celebrating the myth and not the man, but who was he to disappoint the men? Doing a little wave with his raised hand, Benito incited more praise with more 'Duces' from the crowd.
"Evviva l'alicorno!" someone cheered from the front rows.
For a moment it had seemed that nobody but Mussolini had heard that cheer.
Then he heard it again, this time from farther back.
"Viva l'alicorno!" This was closer by.
Another shout from the right: "A hurrah for the Duce and the alicorno!" To this, a mighty urrà roared from Benito's right side that rolled outwards like a wave.
It took some effort for him to not to break his pose, such was the surprise. He had intended to introduce the alicorno, but the crowd had beat him to it. For the first time for a long time, Benito found himself at a loss if for a moment.
Fortunately, Adalberto didn't falter and approached the crowd, presenting the filly by raising her up high for all to see.
The volume of claps and cheers was deafening. Among the cheers for the alicorno, there were still the chants for the Duce. The latter were minute and barely audible relative to the overwhelming support for the filly; arms rose to salute the foal.
For her part the alicorno stared into the crowd, smiling and fidgeting all the while. Then, her right foreleg rose up and stayed that way for a while.
At first, Mussolini thought that it was just the filly's body acting outside of her control, much like how a newborn's did in the first months. But as that hoof didn't fall, Benito felt his jaw drop; she was mimicking a fascist salute!
This earned her both laughs and renewed applause from the mass of fascists. To the warm response, the alicorno uttered a nearly musical giggle.
By then Benito had recovered, smiling broadly, and approached Adalberto to join in with a salute of his own.
He allowed the cheers to peter out before adding, "A new Italy shall rise from our actions, with new national symbols!" He raised a finger. "The Fascio of strength and authority!" Another finger. "The Roman Eagle of times past!" Then a wave to Adalberto and the filly. "And the Alicorno of the fascist future!"
Mussolini had thought over how he could benefit the party with the alicorno, and among one of his ideas, promoting her as a fascist symbol had been one of them. He hadn't expected to introduce her so soon, but seeing the overwhelmingly positive response to her, Benito merely seized the opportunity once more.
The boulevard was alive with cheers from fascists and civilians. Benito had a feeling that once the news spread, he would see far more massive crowds of non-fascists. He allowed himself to beam: this alicorno would prove useful indeed.
Mussolini Introduces the Alicorno to the World - Naples
Yesterday morning an unexpected speech made by Benito Mussolini at the Vesuvio Hotel surprised the residents with a small creature that fascists called the 'alicorno.' While no photographs have been taken of the alicorno, it has been described as a winged foal-like animal with a horn and pink coat. Earlier witness accounts from the night before describing this alicorno had previously been dismissed by the city hall. This dismissal has since been rescinded.
"It is an incredible animal," says Eduardo Verdonois, Mayor of Naples. "While we had thought the original testimonies to be too fantastical, the city of Naples recognizes its mistake and wishes to officially apologize to these witnesses. The municipal committee has approached the honourable Mussolini in regards to adopting the alicorno as a future symbol of the city of Naples."
In regards to the fascist leader, Mussolini had left to Rome with the alicorno for undisclosed reasons.
"This is a busy time for the fascist leadership," explains Michele Bianchi, Secretary-General of the PNF. "We're still working on our manifestation in Rome, and the discovery of the alicorno is still a topic of intense debate and discussion.
"We still stand with the Duce," Bianchi adds. "Among the fascio and the eagle, the alicorno is a fascist symbol meant to unify the new generations of Italians. There is a new era on the horizon, and it shall be a glorious one."
Everywhere in the country, the reaction to the alicorno has been a mostly positive one. A demonstration of supporters took place in Venice with effigies of both Mussolini and the alicorno. These demonstrators had been dispersed by local Carabinieri, though the reason for this has not been made clear.
La Stampa has telegraphed to the current government for a comment on this development, but there has been no official response so far.