Communion Blood (3 page)

“Nor would I expect you to. I will never do so,” said Ragoczy with such encompassing sympathy that Niklos blinked in surprise. “You did not think I would not share your sorrow, did you?”

“You were gone—” Niklos stopped himself.

“You had my letter when I returned; I would have sent it sooner had I been able to,” Ragoczy said. “From the hour she died, I felt the loss of her.”

“So you told me.” Niklos gave a single shake to his head. “I still do not comprehend how.”

“The bond of blood knows no distance,” said Ragoczy slowly, his slight, unidentifiable accent becoming stronger.

Alfredo Cervetti appeared in the doorway, a tablet in his hand. “I have finished with the silver in the dining room. I will now begin on silver vessels in the kitchen and pantry, if it will suit you.”

“Go ahead,” said Niklos in an abstracted way. “You do not need my permission to do what the court has ordered.”

“Very good,” said Alfredo, bowing before he left Niklos alone with his newly arrived guest.

There was a short, uncomfortable silence between Ragoczy and

Niklos; then Ragoczy spoke. “How long have you been at this inventory?”

“Here at Senza Pari? For three weeks. I have sent word to the estates the court demands inventories of, ordering the staffs there to prepare them and bring them to Roma, but I doubt much work has been done yet, or if the orders have been delivered, for the passes may be closed.” He placed the tips of his fingers together. “They know about six estates. One is in England, and the Pope has no authority there, and so the inventory cannot be decreed without the endorsement of the Crown, which will not be granted.”

“That is something, at least. I will assume her other holdings are safe,” Ragoczy said. “This is not a complete rout.” He sighed once and sat down in a high-backed chair of rosewood. From this place he had an angled view of the corridor. “Who is this claimant, and how does he defend his claim?”

“Ahrent Julius Rothofen,” said Niklos said flatly. “He is part of the entourage of Archbishop Siegfried Walmund.”

“Graff von Oldenburg’s tool, I believe,” Ragoczy remarked. “Or do we call him Conte in Roma, and not Graff? Whichever title is used, the man is in a difficult position, being so much surrounded by Protestants. The old law that the faith of the ruler will be the faith of his people no longer holds true everywhere. He will want to demonstrate his dedication to the Church. The Pope cannot like to see so mKch of Germany lost to Protestants, and no doubt he occasionally vents his displeasure on the clerics from those regions where Protestants flourish, which would include Archbishop Walmund. To advance so far and be thwarted by the Protestants. He must feel his lack of promotion keenly; had he not been from Protestant territories, he should have had his red hat long since—he is doubtless aware of his foiled melioration, as is the whole of the Papal Court. He has much to prove, and he will do his utmost to do so, for himself as well as for his master: Oldenburg has need of men to do his bidding, and nowhere more than in Roma.”

“He has stated he supports Rothofen’s claim. I know the magistrate has been sent an official statement from the Archbishop,” Niklos said, looking uneasily toward the doorway to the corridor.

“That is not convenient,” said Ragoczy in a very unconcerned way, but with a warning flick of his fingers. “We will have to find some manner to address it.”

“Do you think it wise to try?” Niklos asked, taking the hint from Ragoczy’s signal. “I do not want to compromise my claim.”

“Then we will have to make the effort. It is a question of finding the means to present the facts appropriately.” He leaned forward. “How soon must the magistrate hear this case?”

“It is supposed to be argued in the spring.” Niklos stood facing Ragoczy, resisting the urge to glance toward the door.

“Tell me how you intend to counter his—Rothofen’s—claims.” Ragoczy smiled encouragement. “I trust you are prepared. You will want to be able to present strong arguments in order to prevail.”

“I have Olivia’s Will,” said Niklos. “It is very specific in its terms.” “I would expect no less.” Ragoczy paused. “But it is the Will of a woman, a widow without sons or brothers to support her, and that is a disadvantage in these days.” In Olivia’s youth, when Claudius and Nero ruled, women had been able to bequeath their estates without male intervention. “It will take more than her Will to ensure your legacy.”

“It is true,” Niklos agreed. In response to a gesture from Ragoczy, he went on. “She was a widow and the executor appointed by her husband was dead. She filed a declaration to that effect. It was left to her to prepare her own Will.”

“That makes your case more difficult, beyond question,” said Ragoczy. “I am sure your advocate has told you as much.”

“He has said it may,” Niklos conceded. “But I must persevere. I would not only lose my inheritance, I would fail in my duty to Olivia, which is unacceptable to me.”

“Then we must find some means to preserve her legacy,” said Ragoczy, and stopped as footsteps sounded in the corridor, accompanied by a scurrying.

A moment later a lean, sandy-haired man of middle years in Hungarian servant’s liveiy came into the room. “My master,” he said to Ragoczy. “I have prepared your quarters.”

“Rugerius,” said Ragoczy. “Very good.” He waited a moment, one hand raised for silence. “Who was listening?”

“A young man, ruddy-haired, with a cast in his right eye,” said Rugerius without any change in his demeanor.

“Bonifaccio,” said Niklos, as resigned as he could persuade himself to be. “I thought he would have to be the one. His father is dead and he has a sister in need of a dowry.”

“He is not the only one, you may be sure,” Ragoczy warned. “The Church has its familiars everywhere.”

“I am aware of three others,” said Niklos. “It is worse than Constantinople, for there we knew we were in a nest of spies; here I would have expected loyalty from Olivia’s servants.”

“But most of them were not her servants, for they never knew her—they are yours, and you are a servant made master by a dead woman,” said Ragoczy steadily.

“That is true enough,” said Niklos, his handsome features made somber by his concerns. “I have thought about it for many months now, and I know any number of them resent me as much as they envy me.”

“That is, sadly, to be expected,” said Ragoczy as he got to his feet. “You must have foreseen something of the sort.”

“Oh, yes. I knew I would face some disapproval and estrangement because of my inheritance.” Niklos indicated the marvels of the reception hall. “They see all this and it makes them long for what they know is out of reach, and that leads to more rancor. Once that path is chosen, I am no longer fortunate, I am a usurper, and as such, must be made to answer for my temerity.”

Ragoczy’s expression softened. “I am sorry, Niklos.”

“I know,” said Niklos, adding brusquely, “but it doesn’t help.” “No,” Ragoczy agreed. He was silent a moment, then went on briskly. “Which is why I am here to defend your inheritance. I can do nothing about your servants, but perhaps I can persuade the court that you are entitled to all Olivia left to you.”

Niklos looked abashed and began to stammer an apology. “That wasn’t. .. didn’t mean ... you shouldn’t... I am grateful. Truly I am.”

“You have no reason to be; I have done nothing to deserve gratitude,” said Ragoczy. “And I would be surprised if you did not feel at a disadvantage.” He pointed toward the doorway. “Incidents like this must be discouraging; they have certainly been so for me, in the past.” “I have encountered some of the same spitefulness,” Rugerius added. “When my master and I have been separated for long periods of time, and it has been left to me to maintain his holdings, my position was not welcomed by other servants.” There had been times he had been unable to keep Ragoczy’s properties safe from the rapacity of others, but he did not mention any of these to Niklos.

“I will do all that I may to bring about a good resolution to your case,” Ragoczy said, intending to reassure Niklos. “I only regret that the storms kept me from arriving sooner; I have much to do between now and February. Aside from offering my testimony and bona fides to the court on your behalf, I will need time to establish a presence here, or I will make myself as apt a target of spite as you are now, which will serve no one.” He smiled, his dark eyes showing an emotion that was not quite affection but had a depth of empathy Niklos had rarely encountered, except from Olivia.

Rugerius glanced in the direction of the door. “I think it would be wise if we plan to talk where we cannot be easily overheard. These corridors might as well be whispering galleries.” He looked toward Niklos, as much compassion as courtesy in his dark eyes. “The weather is good today. Perhaps you would like to take advantage of it and ride with us to the Villa Vecchia?”

Niklos winced at the name. “I go there rarely,” he said.

“Because Olivia died there,” Ragoczy said for him. “I understand your desire to avoid it; were it not my property, I would probably not visit it. But I will have to institute my claim to it if I am to restore it.”

“Are you going to restore it?” Niklos asked in astonishment. He tried not to disapprove of the notion and failed.

“Or build something new,” said Ragoczy. “I think I must. If I show no inclination to maintain my Roman property, it will not help your cause, Niklos, and it could bring about more unwanted speculation.” Niklos nodded, his expression severe. “I dislike going there. It is a dreadful place for me. I know it is your villa and has been for sixteen centuries or more, but all I can see there is Olivia’s tomb.”

Ragoczy shook his head once. “No. Her tomb is on the Via Appia and she left it when Vespasianus was Caesar. The villa may be her mausoleum, but it is not her tomb.” His eyes had the distant look that told Rugerius that his thoughts were far in the past.

“It is where she died,” said Niklos bluntly and with a trace of anger. “Her bones are under the fallen stones. Call it what you will.” “Niklos,” Ragoczy said as he turned toward the bondsman, “pardon me. I did not intend to cause you any dismay. I have been maladroit; I should not have spoken as I did.”

“I am not offended,” said Niklos stiffly.

“No; you are hurt,” said Ragoczy. He waited a long, awkward moment. “I will speak with you when I return. I should be back before sunset.”

“They say the weather is turning again. We will have rain by midnight,” said Niklos, to avoid mentioning the Villa Vecchia another time.

“Very likely,” agreed Ragoczy. “I will be back long before then.” He signaled to Rugerius. “If you will be good enough to put the crates of my native earth where they will attract no attention?”

“Of course,” said Rugerius. He had already planned where the crates were to go but took no umbrage at the reminder, which he knew was intended as much for Niklos as for him.

“If you will tell me what is appropriate dress for visiting the Vatican, I will plan to present myself to the Curia immediately after the New Year,” Ragoczy said. “I do not want to offend the very men whose good opinion will be needed for your claims to prevail.”

“You are from the Carpathians,” Niklos said, half-shrugging. “What you wear now should do.”

“Ah, but it will not,” said Ragoczy. “Not when I mean to live in Roma until this matter is settled. Were I asking for Papal support of my Hungarian troops, it would be different, but as I am to be an exile”—the light in his dark eyes grew more intense—“I must show my willingness to live as my new city lives.”

“I have the court clothes you wore in Vienna,” Rugerius remarked. “They were suitable for Emperor Leopold, it should serve the Curia well enough.”

“Initially, perhaps,” Ragoczy allowed. “But it will do once only,

and then I must conform to Roman fashions or give offense to Vatican society. This is not a minor matter, as it would have been two hundred years ago.”

Rugerius nodded. “That is apparent.”

“And so,” Ragoczy went on to Niklos, “if you can recommend a tailor for me? It is well enough to wear the dolman and mente for a few more days, as I am newly arrived, but if I am to remain here, then the dictates are plain, and I will have to present a Roman appearance.” His smile was swift and wry. “The Magistrates’ Court will not accept me in anything but correct Roman dress.”

“I know of two or three who may meet your standards,” said Niklos. “Their work is superior and their prices, while high, are appropriate for what they do.”

“Thank you; I realize that foreigners are usually charged higher prices than Romans, and I am prepared to pay,” said Ragoczy, starting toward the corridor. “I thank you for receiving me and Rugerius.”

“There is no need,” said Niklos, somewhat surprised at this courtesy.

“Of course there is,” said Ragoczy. “You have undertaken a difficult task that will require your full attention. My visit, no matter how welcome, is also an intrusion. I will do my utmost to upset your work as little as possible.” He stepped back and offered a short bow to Niklos. “My horses should be housed in the old stable, and put out into paddocks when the weather is good.” He raised his hand as he saw Niklos preparing to protest. “No. I have fifteen horses with me. Your stalls are full in the new building, and the old is sound. Have your stable-boys give the stalls a good sweeping and bed them with new straw, and we will do well enough. My tack will be kept there, and my two carriages.”

This concession from so honored a guest took Niklos aback. “You need not,” he said, trying to determine why Ragoczy had made such a decision.

“It would lead to speculation about my motive for helping you if I did otherwise.” Ragoczy continued to walk toward the door leading to the stable. “Roma is full of hangers-on who batten on the goodwill of their more prosperous relatives or ambitious friends. I do not wish to appear to be one such, for it would compromise any efforts I may make on your behalf.” The heels of his tooled black boots rang on the flagstones as he went out into the stable yard, Niklos half a stride behind him.

“No one would think that of you,” said Niklos, moving up beside him.