Communion Blood (29 page)

But Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte did not share his contempt. He stood still for a little time, then gestured to his servant. “This is no time to delay with protocol and propriety. There is no time for it.” He clapped his hands to punctuate his decision. “I will receive him—in the smaller reception room. Tell me when you have escorted him there.”

“I will, Eminenza,” said the servant, and waited for the Cardinal’s gesture of dismissal before fleeing the room.

“What do you suppose this fellow wants?” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte asked Rothofen.

“Probably a few coins for rumors that mean nothing,” Rothofen replied.

“Very likely,” the Cardinal agreed. “Still, he may have stumbled upon something of use. The fact that he dares to come here to speak

with me directly lends some credibility to his news.”

“Or confirms his impertinence,” said Rothofen. He stretched and straightened the wilted lace of his neck-bands. “The weather is horrid.”

“The storm should break this afternoon,” said Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte with supreme indifference. “We will all feel the better for it. It is sufficient that we must hold our breaths on behalf of Innocenzo, but this gathering storm makes it all the worse.” He sighed suddenly. “Decadent and sinful as they were, perhaps the old Romans were wise to have their baths. A swim in tepid water would be very welcome just now.”

“With the Pope ailing?” Rothofen was sincerely scandalized by such a suggestion. “What would the Curia think?”

“I said it would be welcome,” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte told him in a forbidding tone. “I did not say I intended to do it.”

Rothofen said nothing for a moment, then slapped his hand on the table. “The Archbishop is growing restive, Eminenza. He fears there will be no wedding, not this year, and not next. The delays trouble him. What am I to tell him?”

“Tell him anything you like,” snapped the Cardinal. “But assure him I intend the marriage to occur. You may claim that Leocadia is nervous, or uncertain, or any other reasonable excuse you like. In the end it suits all our purposes that she marry, and when she does, she will be wife to the Archbishop’s brother. We must make every effort to ensure the continuing good-will between Spain and the German States, for it is to all our advantages that our old alliances are preserved. My sister is a fortunate woman, if only she would recognize it: she can benefit her family and her country in a single act. And since she must marry, let it be to our greater benefit.” He showed his teeth in a lupine smile.

“You are a clever man, Eminenza,” said Rothofen. “The girl should welcome your guidance.”

“So she should,” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte said in selfapproval. He tapped his fingers on the back of the chair next to where he stood. “The builder should wait a little longer, I think. He must not suppose I will come at anyone’s call.”

A figure appeared in the doorway, gaudily dressed and already a bit the worse for drink; Ursellos came a few steps into the dining room. His Italian was slightly slurred, revealing how inebriated he was. “I hear the innkeeper has been paid off. I suppose I have you to thank for that?” He made an effort to adjust his wig and then shook out the ruffles at his wrists.

Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte gave his younger brother a hard stare. “What else was I to do? If he had taken you to Court, our family would have been utterly compromised.” He clicked his tongue in condemnation. “When will you learn to comport yourself as a man of honor?”

“You should have let me kill the fellow,” Ursellos complained. “That would have shown his claim was without merit.”

“Oh, yes. If you should be accused of murder, it would be better,” said the Cardinal, with such sarcasm that Ursellos blushed.

“If I had horsewhipped him, everyone would know there was no basis for his claim,” Ursellos protested with less certainty than he had wanted to show.

“And Roma would hum with gossip for weeks, and the tale would grow more lurid with every telling. What a fine situation that would be,” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte exclaimed in condemnation of his brother. “Let me beg you, Ursellos, to curtail your escapades at least while the Pope is in ill-health. What would be excusable when Sua Santita is well would be deplored now, when the duty of all good Catholics is to pray for God’s Mercy and Innocenzo’s recovery.” “Oh, spare me,” said Ursellos wearily. “If you wish to play that farce, I will have to vomit.”

“Ursellos!” the Cardinal admonished him. “If you speak so again, I will order you to return to Spain.”

“As you did Leocadia?” Ursellos laughed nastily. “Won’t the Curia wonder at your motive if both o: us are gone at the same time?” He took his quizzing-glass and raised it languidly to his eye. “Do you think such scrutiny will benefit you, mi hermano?”

“Do not press me, Ursellos,” his brother warned him. “You have nearly exhausted my patience. If you try me too much, I will be forced to—”

“To what?” Ursellos challenged; the silence that followed was charged with more than the coming storm. “You paid off that innkeeper for your reasons, not for me,” he went on when the Cardinal did not speak. “You have your ambitions. Well and good. I have my enjoyments, and I will take them as I wish.”

Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte sighed. “You have no thought for anyone but yourself, Ursellos. What can I do to show you the errors of your ways?”

“Why, nothing, Martin; nothing.” Ursellos made a profound leg to the Cardinal, speaking next in Spanish as a deliberate slight to Roth- ofen. “And I will not contaminate the sanctity of your presence with my sinful self any longer.”

“What’s this?” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte demanded. “The only place you should been seen outside these walls is at Confession. Not that you are dressed for it,” he added sourly, indicating his brother’s flamboyant clothes. “You are not in Paris.”

“Confession?” Ursellos scoffed. “With you praying for me, why should I Confess? God must surely pay more heed to the petitions of Cardinals than those of their wayward brothers.” He started toward the door. “No, mi hermano, no. The weather is making you testy. So I will not embarrass you with any recitations of my trespasses. Do not fear that I will make you watch me indulge myself while you wait for Innocenzo to die. I am going to the casino outside the walls on the road to Ostia Antica. You need not fear I will return tonight, for I plan to remain in the country for a few days. My friends—debauched though you think them—seek my society as eagerly as you wish to be rid of me.”

“This is a difficult time, Eminenza,” said Rothofen, his face hardening as he watched Ursellos turn and leave the room without ever acknowledging his presence. “Your brother has the manners of a Turk.”

“I would like to be able to leap to his defense,” said Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte, “but I cannot excuse anything he does. It is a heavy burden.”

“So I would suppose,” said Rothofen, who was more envious than condemning of Ursellos.

“More than you can imagine,” said the Cardinal; he deliberately turned his back on the door through which his brother had departed. “Un-Christian though it is, I hope he is caught in the downpour.” Rothofen shook his head. “That a brother could be so ungrateful. And a sister,” he amended. “Both of them do not value you as they ought.”

“Perhaps they are testing my faith and my devotion,” the Cardinal suggested in a tone of voice that implied the opposite.

“In that case, I pray God sends you fortitude,” said Rothofen, and rose from his seat. “I will make an appropriate explanation to the Archbishop. He, too, knows what it means to have an ungrateful brother. If I tell him of Ursellos, he will not be so critical of Leoca- dia’s absence. I may tell him that you have been troubled by the company Ursellos keeps and that you are advising Leocadia to stay away so that she will not be imposed upon by Ursellos’ companions.” “An inspired notion,” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte approved. “And one that the Archbishop would understand and applaud. He knows the way of the youth of Roma, thanks to his brother, and he would not want to have a gentle, innocent girl exposed to the unruly men of the city.” Rothofen was warming to his own notion, embroidering his idea as he spoke. “You, I will assure him, have been concerned at the life Ursellos is living, and because of that, you have informed your sister to keep well away from Roma until her wedding is set. It is what any sensible man would do.” He made a leg. “That should calm his nerves and show him your intentions are genuine.” “Yes, yes. Very good. I thank you for making a reasonable excuse that will not occasion any more doubts.” The Cardinal was growing restive. “I had better see this builder. In case he has some information that will lead to my sister.” He swept out of the room; in his wake the first ominous roll of thunder grumbled over Roma.

Rothofen wondered if he ought to remain in the dining room or leave. The Cardinal had told him nothing. Therefore, he decided, it would be wisest to remain here, or near at hand, where he might be of use to his Eminence after the builder departed. He was also aware that the builder might have information that he could use, and in this time of flattened wallets and restive landlords, a bit of gossip to sell

could be put to excellent use. Satisfied with his decision, he ordered more wine.

The builder was a man in his late twenties, stocky and open-faced, dressed in a dusty smock, and leather breeches. He held his soft cap in his hands; as Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte came into the reception room, he dropped to his knee and bowed his head in an appropriate display of humility. When the Cardinal extended his hand, the builder kissed his ring, but remained on his knees while the Cardinal regarded him expectandy.

“You have come to tell me something, my son?” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte asked with deceptive gentleness. He sat down, making his demeanor as serene as possible.

“Yes, Eminenza, I have.” The builder coughed and did his best to raise his voice. “I am Giovanni Mandria. I am a mason, and a member of the stonemason’s Artei. I ply my trade in building houses. Well, that should be obvious,” he said, indicating the dust on his smock. “I am presently working on a grand staircase in marble at the Villa Vec- chia, which is owned by Ferenc Ragoczy. He is a foreigner—”

“I know who he is,” said the Cardinal. “Tell me why you have come.”

“Yes,” said the builder, who was beginning to lose his nerve. “Yes. Yes. A very rich foreigner.” He shook his head as if to reestablish his purpose. “Eminenza, there is a penitent at the Villa Vecchia, a young woman, I have been told—”

“You have been told?” The Cardinal interrupted.

“Oh, yes. All the workers have been talking about her,” said the builder nervously. “Even the servants talk.”

“Have you not seen her?” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte interrupted more brusquely. “Report honestly, Mandria, as you would to your Confessor. Consider your words well.” He waited while the stonemason visibly brought his dread under control. “Now: have you seen this young woman?”

“I? Oh, no. But I have heard about her. She is young and pretty, they say.” He was hoping now to please the Cardinal, certain he had overstepped himself.

“Young and pretty? Who says this?” The Cardinal’s questions were

sharp now, and any indication of tranquility had vanished.

“The men who made her penitent’s cell for her,” said the builder, his confidence slipping badly. “I have not seen her myself, as I have said, but all the builders talk about her; I told you that, too. They wonder why a pretty young woman should hide herself a way in a cell like a hermit and beat herself with a whip.” He was talking too fast and his face was pale.

“And why do you come to me with this tale?” the Cardinal asked with renewed gentleness.

“I come because I have heard you are looking for a girl, a young one. If you had not found this one, I decided I should tell you of her.” He was panting, and not from the heat alone. “I wanted to be of service.”

“And what does your employer say?” Cardinal Calaveria y Vaca- monte inquired.

“Bonaldo Fiumara?” Mandria was stunned. “What should he say?”

“Not he,” the Cardinal interrupted tersely. “Ragoczy. What does the Signor’ Conte say of this young woman?”

“He says only that she is a penitent. Nothing more. What would you expect? It is charitable to house the penitent.” Mandria sounded ill-used. “I have come to you because I have heard you are looking for a young woman. This penitent is a young woman. Since the Signor’ Conte says nothing of her, I reckoned you might not have been told about her—indeed, why should the Signor’ Conte say anything of this penitent young woman? She has withdrawn from the world; it would not be suitable for anyone to speak of it. The Signor’ Conte is not one to boast of his charities, and who can speak ill of that?” He held up his hands as if to say he was responsible for none of it.

“Who, indeed?” the Cardinal inquired sarcastically. “A woman he keeps at his own villa for his own purposes—”

Mandria was bold enough to interrupt. “The only purpose she serves is prayer and sacrifice. Me, I should know,” he went on. “She kept to her cell until her whippings made her ill, and then she was taken into the old house with a maid to guard her.” He chuckled. “No one has seen her since. The maid is a dragon.”

“But you are sure there is a girl?” Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte

asked sharply. “This is no tale of bored men working too long in the hot sun?”

“No, it is not.” Mandria was offended at such a suggestion. “There is a young woman. Everyone knows this.”

“Really,” the Cardinal marveled. “Yet you have not seen her.” “The cook has seen her,” Mandria protested. “He has made meals for her, and he has given them to the maid.”

“And what says this cook?” Now the Cardinal was sounding very bored. “Does he claim to know who the penitent is?”

“No. I have said no one knows.” Mandria’s patience and his awe were nearly gone. “But if you wonder about unknown young women, this penitent is an unknown young woman. She is at the Villa Vecchia and she has kept to herself. That is all I have to say.” He did not wait for a dismissal but trudged toward the door. “Do as you wish about her.” He stopped long enough to kneel and lass the Cardinal’s ring.