Communion Blood (26 page)

As she stirred, he stopped his ministrations. “Where am I?” she asked in Spanish, her eyes again coming open.

Ragoczy answered in Italian, to keep from confusing her more than she already was. “In the study of the Villa Vecchia. You collapsed, Signorina. Fortunately one of my servants heard you, and summoned aid.” He could see that this had little impact upon her; her gaze was unsteady and with little animation.

“Oh,” she said, and closed her eyes again.

Very carefully Ragoczy resumed his treating of her back until he had covered most of the mangled flesh in the pale-green liquid. Then he waited, allowing the virtue of the tincture to work upon her, dulling the sensation in her wounds so that he would not make her agony worse as he treated her.

When Rugerius returned the second time, he said, “Matyas is cleaning her cell. He plans to wash down the whole building, inside md out. He wants no site for the fevers of summer to take hold at die Villa Vecchia.”

“Not an entirely foolish notion.” Ragoczy approved, as he took the basin from Rugerius. “It will help our guest, if she decides to remain with us.”

“And do you think she will?” Rugerius asked, lifting the ewer he had brought with the basin to the bench next to the trestle table.

“I have no idea,” Ragoczy said as he bent over Leocadia again. “I’ll need the spirits of wine to wash my hands.”

“Of course,” Rugerius said, and selected the spirits of wine from the tray. Then he took one of the strips of linen and held it between his hands. “Go ahead.”

Ragoczy took the spirits of wine and opened the container, pouring a palmful onto his open hand. Then he set the container down and rubbed his hands briskly together over the cloth Rugerius held. Only when he had taken care to lave every part of both his hands did he allow Rugerius to dry his hands. “Stow the cloth for washing,” he said as he gave his entire attention to Leocadia again.

“And wash in boiling water,” said Rugerius, repeating the rest of the instruction.

“Add the rest of the spirits of wine to the basin,” Ragoczy went on as he touched the scoring on Leocadia’s back. The anodyne tincture had done its work; she did not flinch, nor was she roused as he continued to study the extent of the damage she had done herself. “There are bits of cloth buried in the welts,” he said. “I will have to clean them out or the infection will come again.”

“Of course,” said Rugerius, taking a boiled sponge and putting it into the basin along with rest of the spirits of wine. “You will need to soak them out, I suppose.”

“I see no alternative.” His voice was distant, his concentration so great that words seemed trivial. “Hold the basin near.”

Rugerius did as he was told, watching while Ragoczy laid the sopping sponge on Leocadia’s back. “How long will you wait?”

“It will depend on how swollen the tissues are. I will have to be very careful, however long it takes.” His expression was oddly serene

as he went about the task of soaking her injuries, and then cautiousl) drawing out the bits of thread and cloth that clung there. Only when all trace of fabric was gone did he sponge away the pus and caked blood. Finally he dropped the sponge back in the basin, saying, “Boil the lot. And bum those scraps of cloth. They are full of infection and cannot be saved.”

“The cook will be in the kitchen soon, and the workmen will arrive soon after that.” Rugerius indicated the window where the sky was beginning to lighten. The first rustle of the morning breeze plucked at the leaves of the cypress and peach trees growing near the villa, like the whispered hush before a concert or the anticipation of Mass.

“Yes. I will wrap her in clean linen, but it will have to be changed this evening.” He frowned briefly. “She will have to be tended until the fever is past. You may need to find a maid to look after her.”

“I will ask the cook to recommend someone,” said Rugerius. “There must be someone in the village who will undertake to care for her.”

“I have no doubt of that,” said Ragoczy drily. “But she must remain incognito, and the curiosity of servants is legendary.” He glanced toward the window, his attractive, irregular features made stark by the increasing light. “Choose someone who is discreet, for the sake of this young woman.”

“I will do so,” said Rugerius. He paused. “Do you want to notify her family?”

Ragoczy paused in cleaning his hands in the last of the spirits of wine. “If she admitted to having one, I would, but as she claims to be alone in the world, it would be the worst breach of trust I could—” He stopped as Leocadia sighed.

“Is she waking?” Rugerius came to the side of the table and looked down at her.

“She might be. Get me the bandages so I may finish my work,” Ragoczy said crisply, and for the next little while he busied himself with putting clean linen strips over the tom flesh of her back. When he was through the sun was rising, and the first, pinkish rays of light were coming through the windows and the sounds of the builders arriving rivaled the birds for command of the morning.

“What about the room at the end of the back hall? Shall I carry her there? It is isolated enough for our penitent,” suggested Rugerius.

“I suppose so,” said Ragoczy, his tone distant. “Have the cook be her chaperone, if you think she will be agreeable to the idea, at least until you can find a maid for her.”

“What troubles you, my master?” Rugerius asked as he went on with his task of cleaning up.

Ragoczy gave a single shake of his head. “She is so
much...
alone.”

“And she is like Nicoris and Xenya,” said Rugerius. “Oh, yes; I have seen that aspect in her, and I have hoped I was wrong. It may still be that I am.”

“We cannot be certain,” said Ragoczy, his voice quiet, his eyes like banked embers.

“No; yet I have seen it in you, too, that you sense her des—” He went silent as Leocadia moaned

“She will be awake soon, and she should be stowed in her bed shortly,” Ragoczy said, his expression keen again. “It will not do for her to discover me here, not after her travail. She will need some time to comprehend what has happened to her, and why. I will speak with her later.” He gathered up his gloves and riding-coat on his way to the door. “I regret this will demand so much attention from you, old friend.”

“You’re being land to a frightened young woman—why should I not assist you?” Rugerius shook his head. “If I have not become accustomed to this aspect of your character by now, my master, I deserve banishment.” There was amusement in his faded-blue eyes that took any sting from his words.

“And she came here for protection,” Ragoczy said. “What else could I do?”

“Nothing that you could bear to do,” said Rugerius. “So she is a guest here, however strange she may be. It is my honor to care for her well-being. And yours.” This last implied a warning that Ragoczy did not address.

“I hope you are repaid commensurately,” said Ragoczy as he left Rugerius with Leocadia. By the time he came down from his private

quarters shortly after the builders and the servants had had their midday meal and nap, the villa was thrumming with activity, from the builders working on the new structure to the servants bustling about their tasks, to Maurizio, who practiced out in the garden in spite of the heat of the day.

Rugerius met Ragoczy in the corridor outside the withdrawing room devoted to music. Ragoczy was neatly dressed in black brocade piped in red silk; he was expecting Alessandro Scarlatti to visit him a bit later in the day. “What of our Guest?”

Rugerius answered in a low voice, as if to quiet the sounds of construction from outside. “She is resting. I have found someone to watch over her, but she has not come yet. The cook’s cousin will be here later in the afternoon. I promised her a gold sceptre for every day of service, provided she is loyal.”

“Generous pay: do you think that might make her too curious?” Ragoczy asked, half-listening to Maurizio working at his exercises.

“It is a risk, but given that there is building going on, she will probably consider the amount a sign of your wealth. The builder are boasting about the outrageous amounts they are charging you, and she may think this is more of the same.” Rugerius indicated the activity on the far side of the carriage drive. “The noise alone demands higher pay.”

“Is that what you told her?” Ragoczy asked, a trace of mischief in his dark eyes.

“No; that is what the cook told her,” Rugerius replied. “Do you plan to visit her?”

“After her maid arrives I will spend a short while with her, as I must, being her host,” Ragoczy said at his most urbane. “She will expect that courtesy.”

“And what about Maurizio?” asked Rugerius, falling into step beside Ragoczy as he made his way toward the garden and the sound of the violin.

“I doubt his playing will distress our guest,” said Ragoczy, deliberately obtuse.

“That was not my meaning,” Rugerius responded. “The lad is infatuated with the penitent. What are we to do about it?”

Ragoczy stopped and looked directly at his manservant. “As little as possible. Maurizio already has far too grand a notion of himself. Let him think he is thwarted in love and there will be no bearing him.” His tone became more somber. “And I fear our Penitent Guest may not welcome his attentions beyond his music.”

“He knows she is ill,” Rugerius remarked.

“I would imagine everyone from here to the high-road knows that by now,” said Ragoczy. “It is dread of the mal aria that makes everyone fear sickness.”

Rugerius considered this. “Can Maurizio’s ardor be dampened by his concern about illness? He is impetuous, but would he do anything
..He
tried to find the right word.

“I think Maurizio would not let disease or war or religion lessen his affection; only time will do that.” Ragoczy remembered how turbulent and difficult it had been for him, the first time he had grappled with passion: though it was nearly three thousand years ago, he could still wince at the recollection of his impulsivity. He had not comprehended its meaning at the time; his understand came only in retrospect, long after he had left the Temple of Imhotep, long after the sun-ravaged girl was dead.

“Do you think he would—” Rugerius did not go on, as if speaking his apprehension aloud would increase the chance of its becoming reality.

“I think he is a young man caught in the throes of his first real devotion, and I suspect he is not very prudent just now. There is such mystery in his inamorata, which helps to fuel his predilection. He is very likely confused by all that is happening; such attachments often take one by surprise.” Ragoczy smiled swiftly. “Don’t worry for the time being; Maestro Scarlatti will keep him busy as our opera rehearsals continue.”

“A pity Maurizio does not have the benefit of your instruction,” said Rugerius.

“I may not play for him, but I do instruct him,” he reminded Rugerius. “There is no point in playing for him—it would only serve to make him more competitive than he already is, which would benefit no one.” -He paused at the door to the garden. “If only he will

use a little sense in regard to our Penitent Guest this will be easier for him as well as for her.”

“Do you think he will—use sense?” Rugerius had a hint of amusement in his question.

Ragoczy shook his head once. “No,” he said evenly. “I do not.”

Text of a letter from Niklos Aulirios to Podesta Narcisso della Rovere, accompanying two deeds of title.

To the most worthy Magistrate, Podesta Narcisso della Rovere, Niklos Aulirios sends his respectful greetings and begs that the Podesta will consider the attestations he is sending to you when making his final decisions regarding the egregious suit Ahrent Rothofen has seen fit to bring against him.

I have taken the liberty of sending these materials to your clerk, with the earnest supplication that he will bear them to you at your country villa, for although you have recessed the hearing of the suit, it cannot be possible that so meticulous a Magistrate as you are known to be would refuse to scrutinize all appropriate exhibits pertaining to this affair.

Good Magistrate, l appeal to your sense of justice in this difficult contest. I repose utmost confidence in your prudence and your rectitude, and now I lay the whole of my claim open to your perusal. You have already in hand the record made of Pope Sergius IV’s gracious permission for the Clemens estates to be maintained through the female line and exempted from any claims of husbands or other male relatives, These two deeds show that the Clemens women have exercised their right of matrilineal inheritance from the time of Pope Sergius’ dispensation until Atta Olivia Clemens, who was a widow, died without female issue to claim the estates of her inheritance.

Let me assure you, Podesta, that I do not want to cheat any legitimate heir of any valid legacy, but as Rothofen is claiming that his grandfather’s legitimization is grounds for his inheriting, I believe it is incumbent upon me to bring you these deeds as a demonstration of the Clemens women’s long history of exercising their prerogatives as granted to them so long ago. If you have any doubt as to their traditions in this regard, you may see for yourself that they have continued to manage their affairs in accordance with the privileges Pope Sergius granted them.

If, upon examination of these deeds you still cannot support my right to the estates left to me by Atta Olivia Clemens, then I will have to submit my records to the Pope for his judgment. I doubt Innocenzo will be inclined to countermand the rulings of his distant predecessor, particularly since the precedent he established has been so regularly maintained.

1 thank you for the careful perusal you will give my case and I welcome the wisdom of your judgment. I am always at your disposal to answer any questions you may have, and to bring about a reasonable disposal of this suit. May God guide your meditations and may your Good Angel reward your impartiality in this matter, for I am confident that you will not seek to pervert the spirit and letter of the law in order to please the caprice of powerful men whose purpose is not justice but avarice.

Believe me, Podesta, to be one who holds you in highest esteem,