Communion Blood (24 page)

“Not until September, certainly,” said Niklos, his handsomeness marred by a scowl.

“Not at any time.” Ragoczy spoke now in Byzantine Greek. “Po- desta Narcisso della Rovere’s hands are tied. If he awards the estates to Rothofen, he contravenes the orders of the Pope. Oh not Inno- cenzo XI—Sergius IV—not that that would make any difference.”

“Do you think he will not challenge the order?” Niklos asked nervously, glad to use his native tongue again.

“How can he? The parchment, inks, and Papal seals are authentic. The writing is of the period, and there are half a dozen such orders of Sergius’ in the Papal archives. Someone at the Lateran will surely vouch for its authenticity. No servant of mine—aside from Ruger- ius—saw me prepare it, and the materials I used are in the hidden room at Villa Vecchia.”

“No one knows about that room?” Niklos could not keep from wondering. “How can you be certain?”

“I am certain,” said Ragoczy quietly, but with such purpose that Niklos did not pursue the matter.

“What do you think about Podesta della Rovere?” It was an adroit turn of subject and both of them knew it.

“I think he is being pressured.” Ragoczy studied Niklos a moment in silence.

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” Niklos agreed, bracing himself as the coach swung around a crowded comer. “But is it the Church, the Archbishop, or Rothofen doing it?”

An outbreak of shouting from the street, with cries of
“Ladro!”
halted their carriage for a short while as market-vendors ran down the thief.

“All three, I surmise, given his capacity for endless delays.” He sighed once. “He knows he will have to uphold your legacy in the end, and he knows this will cause hard feelings in the Church. The Pope needs the support of the German states if he is to keep Louis of France from establishing himself as the equal of the Pope.”

Niklos said nothing for a short while. Then, as they reached the gates of the city, he said, “I may be Greek, but after so many centuries with Olivia, I feel part of my soul is Roman.”

“Very likely,” Ragoczy concurred. “At least as Roman as half the people who live here.”

“Not if Rothofen gets his way,” said Niklos glumly. He fingered the chain on his quizzing glass, and did his best not to look worried.

“Rothofen has given della Rovere false material, if what Ettore Colonna tells me can be believed.” Ragoczy was not as edgy as his companion, but he spoke with care.

“And you rely on him to tell you the truth.” Niklos let his sarcasm

color his voice. “Why should he be any more candid than any other man in Roma?”

“Because he dislikes Rothofen and he has no reason to lie,” Ra- goczy replied.

“Except that he is a Colonna, and the Colonnas have been ambitious since Romulus and Remus suckled the She-Wolf,” said Niklos testily.

“All the more reason to trust what he says; he knows the wheat from the chaff.” Ragoczy contemplated Niklos’ downcast appearance. “Remember you are a ghoul and you will outlive Rothofen; if you must, you can buy the estates again—Olivia did that more than once.”

For the first time in several days Niklos chuckled. “You’re probably right,” he allowed ruefully. He leaned back against the upholstered supports. “At least we may arrive at Senza Pari before Scarlatti and his musicians are quite finished rehearsing for the day.”

“Does that intrude?” Ragoczy asked with concern but no apprehension.

“No. Nothing of the sort,” Niklos said quickly. “After even a short time in Court, I welcome harmony and sweet voices.” He folded his arms comfortably. “What an exhausting day. And for so little result.”

The coach swayed again as it rumbled over the broken paving at the edge of the old Roman paving; Amerigo cursed vigorously as he tugged the horses back onto the ancient, dust-covered surface.

Ragoczy said nothing; he could feel the annealing presence of his native earth that lined the floor and the seats of the carriage, begin to restore him. He noticed Niklos was sunk in thought, his broad- brimmed hat pulled down to shade his eyes. Ragoczy understood that Niklos did not want to talk any longer and so he gave himself up to assimilating the welcome succor of his native earth for the rest of the journey to Senza Pari.

Text of a letter from Giorgianna Ferrugia to Ferenc Ragoczy, Conte da San-Germain.

To the most generous of patrons, Ferenc Ragoczy, Conte da San- Germain, the most respectful greetings of the Marchesa di Scosces- erto:

How can I thank you enough for the generous gifts you have lavished on me on the occasion of my wedding? Many thought our haste was inappropriate and their gifts reflected that, hut not yours! and not one gift inappropriate! The lovely pair of silver candle-sconces are even now being mounted on the withdrawing-room wall, flanking the mantel mirror, as you suggested. Such artistry, and so unusual. I am agog to know where you found such unusual work. The bolts of sculptured velvet will make magnificent draperies for the same room, which I assume was your intention. Such a wonderful shade—not blue, not grey, not green, but taking some of each color and making it a shade that is so like silver that some might be excused for thinking it was.

Ilirio is delighted with the four horses you sent to him as his gift. Such splendid animals! Our head coachman says that they are a perfectly matched team. I confess, I do not usually like roan horses, but these are such a color that their red manes and tails are almost as red as cherries, and their coats are like new, pink copper. They have none of that patchy look so many roans have.

We will return from our nuptial retreat in a month. We were going to Livorno, but there have been such rumors about the French King seeking to confront the Pope, now that Sua Santita is ill, that we have decided to go to Venice, instead. The Turks seem less dangerous than Louis of France just now. Ilirio is disappointed, but I confess I am not. Venice delights me, even in summer. I promise I will continue to practice the Vestal Virgin’s music while we are gone so that little ground will be lost when I return to rehearsal. Do, please, convince Maestro Scarlatti that I have not so forgotten myself that I will shirk my art. That will never happen, for not only do I know that my voice is God’s most sacred gift to me, I also know that Ilirio is most delighted in me when I am singing, and the admiration my voice inspires fills him with honorable pride.

I also apologize for not having that discussion you requested, but, Conte, as you yourself reminded me, my conduct must be exemplary. I can do nothing that smacks of the clandestine, not even for you. I ask you to consider that as you weigh the advantages of speaking of this urgent matter against the advantages of keeping silent. Perhaps as we continue to work on the opera you will be able to have an

opportunity to tell me those important things you mentioned when you were last at my villa. And perhaps you will decide they are not so important after all.

Your generosity and your kindnesses to me have brightened my life more than I can tell you, and your—I can only call it largess that you have shown my husband and me, is beyond anything I would ever have expected. There are those who have decided that married or not, I am little more than a courtesan because I have sung in public, and their spite is beyond anything I thought I would encounter. Your cautions were well-intentioned, I realize that now, and I thank you on that account, as well.

Know I remember you in my prayers, as I remember Maestro Scarlatti. Surely God will be gracious to you for your benignancy to me. And while you may not always be completely welcome in my husband’s house, you will always have a home in a special comer of my heart.

Believe me, Conte, one who holds you in highest esteem, Giorgianna Ferrugia, Marchesa di Scoscerto

at Ognissanti near Roma, on the 29th day of May, 1689

Leocadia Perpetua Dulce Calaveria y Vacamonte

JL ext of a letter from Archbishop Siegfried Walmund to Martin, Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte, delivered by Ahrent Rothofen.

To Sua Eminenza Martin, Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte, the most reverential greetings of Archbishop Walmund of Oldenburg, written by my own hand and with the prayers that God will preserve the Cardinal’s family from any ill or evil:

It can come as no surprise to you, Eminenza, that my brother and I are disappointed to learn that your sister is not yet returned from her travels, for we both long for the day we may see her again, and resume the negotiations that were so abruptly discontinued when your sister left for Barcelona. Not that I do not enter into your feelings in regard to arranging marriages
—
truly, both parties should be aware of the agreements. I cannot think that the methods of our grandparents, when unions were negotiated without any consideration of the parties to be married, was preferable to our more tempered, modem approach. Therefore I beg you to inform me the moment you know that your sister is coming back to Roma, so that we may begin where we left off.

I pray that the family emergency that called her away has been successfully resolved, and that she will not be burdened with grief

when she arrives, for a mourning bride is said to be a poor omen for a marriage. I trust, Eminenza, you will take no offense when I tell you that I would hope to see my brother and your sister united before Advent. We are agreed, are we not, that finding ways to continue the bonds between Spain and the German and Austrian states is a most desirable end, for the Hapsburgs will no longer occupy the Spanish throne when your King dies, and unless marriages of this sort are made, the unity that has served our countries and our faith so well, could suffer. You and I know what perilous times we live in, and how necessary it is to preserve the bonds holding Spain and the German states in alliance. The French have necessitated the Pope founding the Holy League, for Louis has issued challenges to the Church that cannot be tolerated, nor shall it be.

I recognize it is in Oldenburg’s interest to have some link to the Spanish colonies in the New World; since few German states have colonies, the holdings of the Spanish have long been our link to the New World; it is a link we would not like to lose when the Spanish throne becomes vacant. Marriages like the one you and I contemplate for our families can establish the ties we all seek, and make it possible for the German states not to have too little influence in the affairs of the New World. You and I are agreed, I think, on the importance of German troops to support the Spanish presence in your colonies; without the musquets and pikes of our soldiers, the Spanish monks and priests might well have good reason to fear the ferocity of the natives, whose conversions are not always as certain as they profess. Think of what the Graff von Oldenburg may provide to aid your Spanish religious. For the sake of our countries and the True Faith, we must continue to support one another in our endeavor to bring the world to Christian order.

I realize your sister has reservations about my brother, Eminenza, and what woman would not have doubts about a man who wasted his youth in foolishness, and for which he is now suffering? God has brought him face-to-face with his sins and has marked him as one who must spend his life in penance for his failure to heed the loving admonitions of the Church. I do not seek to excuse his excesses, or to deny the burden this has placed on his health. But 1 am not convinced that these considerations are reason enough for a marriage to be refused, not with so much more than the lives of your sister and my brother in the balance. You were good enough to inform my courier, Ahrent Rothofen, that she—your sister—was uncertain about my brother, and, as I have said already, there is no fault in her for such cautions; few women wish to be joined to a man afflicted, no matter what sort of wretchedness he endures. Ordinarily I would not think a young woman ill-advised if she refused such a husband as my brother must be. If these two young people were peasants’ or merchants’ children, it might well be that their marriage would serve no purpose. But they are not from insignificant families, and these are not insignificant times, and their obligations extend beyond those of farm and market. You say your sister has long understood her duty to marry. It remains only to show her why her acceptance of my brother fulfills that duty.

The Graff von Oldenburg has informed me that upon the announcement of the nuptials of your sister and my brother, he will dispatch a company of pikemen to the American destination of your choosing, Eminenza, as a token of his appreciation of your efforts on behalf of Oldenburg and the Church. He would prefer to send the men before the worst of the winter storms make for a hard crossing, but that, of course, is in the hands of your sister.

I will be attending the Mass for the Pope’s health tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps you and I will have a few moments we may discuss this further at its conclusion. If the heat is not too oppressive, perhaps we might have a stroll in the gardens? I will not, of course, press you for your answer then, but we may be able to reach a more comprehensive understanding after a little conversation. I hope you will spare me time then. If you cannot, then I ask you, Eminenza, to appoint another place and hour when we might conclude our negotiations. You have intimated to me that you are eager for this match, as you know I am. Should we not then, do all that we can to see our hopes come to fruition?

With my prayers for your wisdom and well-being and the pledge of my fidelity to our mutual cause, I sign myself

Your most devoted and sincere Siegfried Walmund Archbishop of Oldenburg

In Roma on the 17th day of June, 1689

Moonlight limned the rising walls of the new buildings at the Villa Vecchia, its limpid touch softening and concealing, like the veil over a bride’s face. Summer filled the night air, warm and fecund, every breeze laden with the aromas of the burgeoning largesse of fields and orchards and vineyards. Making his way back to this place very late, Ragoczy could hear the distant call of night-birds and the gentle sloughing of the wind against the counterpoint of his horse’s hooves on the flags of the courtyard; his ride had been contented, for the lovely dream he had provided the widow two villages away had not only assuaged his esurience, it had held some of the amelioration of loneliness that such encounters rarely provided, and for which he was deeply grateful. As he neared the stable, he became aware of another sound coming from beyond the coach-house: the sing-song repetition of the Rosary prayers, punctuated by the occasional slap of leather on flesh.