Communion Blood (37 page)

“I know,” said Ragoczy, laying his small, gloved hand on Maurizio’s shoulder. “You would never harm her; I have no doubt of that.” He added to himself that if he had such apprehensions, he would insist that Maurizio leave with him.

The young violinist attempted to smile, but the expression would not stay fixed. “She will not remain here, will she?”

“Probably not,” Ragoczy said gently. “But then, neither will you.”

Maurizio ducked his head, muttering, “No, I suppose I won’t.” He started to turn away, but Ragoczy would not let him.

“I understand your emotions; more than you think.” His dark eyes were steady and compassionate. “You want to salve her wounds and rid her of whatever terrible thing haunts her. I sympathize with you. I empathize. You seek to provide the anodyne she so clearly needs. Yet I know—as you will learn—that she does not want deliverance, and until she seeks it within herself, not you, not I, nor God Himself can bring it about.”

“So you say,” Maurizio said gracelessly.

Ragoczy smiled slightly. “Learn by my experience, if you can, for that lesson was hard-won,” he recommended, and let it go at that, despite the myriad swarm of memories that crowded his mind and the many faces that jostled for recollection. “Now that the new Pope is elected, Maestro Scarlatti will soon have need of your services again, so let us make the most of the remaining time we have to work on your technique. If you will pay a bit more attention to your intonation, that will be welcome. I will return late tonight. In the morning I will want to hear your Carissimi variations.”

“Very well,” said Maurizio, his whole demeanor stiff.

Knowing he could say nothing more to Maurizio that would soothe his injured spirit, Ragoczy made half a leg and left the young man to take out his emotions on his bowing and fingering. To confirm this expectation, an energetic
allegro confuoco
attack followed him along I the corridor to the library where Celestino Bruschi was just finishing his meal. “Good evening once again, Signore Bruschi,” said Ragoczy in good form. “I trust you have had a satisfactory repast.”

“Oh, excellent, truly excellent,” Bruschi enthused out of habit. “You have a most superior cook.”

“So I understand.” Ragoczy paused. “I have no desire to rush you, but the hour is advancing. You and I would be well-advised to depart together.”

“Yes,” said Bruschi with less verve. “No doubt you are right.” He held back a sigh as he rose and reached for his short cloak. “You have received me very well.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Ragoczy as he drew his answer to Ettore Colonna from his frogged coat. “For your employer,” he said.

“Mille grazie,” Bruschi said as he accepted the letter, putting it into the pocket in the lining of this justaucorps. “I will see it into his hand before midnight.”

“I can ask no more,” said Ragoczy while Bruschi donned his cloak.

A moment later Bruschi professed himself ready to depart, and went with Ragoczy to the stable where Matyas had Bruschi’s mare ready, and the grey Andalusian Ragoczy had asked for.

“Here is a lanthom,” Matyas added as Ragoczy mounted.

“Let Signore Bruschi have it,” Ragoczy recommended. “I know the road to Senza Pari well; Signore Bruschi will need it before he enters Roma’s gates again.”

Matyas nodded and waited while Bruschi vaulted into the saddle, then silently offered the lanthom to him.

“You need not wait up for me, Matyas,” Ragoczy told him in Hungarian. “I can tend to Callista myself.”

“I have harness to clean,” Matyas said, tacitly conveying his intention to remain awake until Ragoczy returned.

“As you please,” said Ragoczy, and tapped Callista with his heels to set her jogging out of the stable; Bruschi followed closely behind him, the light from the lanthom bouncing along slightly ahead of them like an insubstantial toy. The wind had come up, turning the evening chilly and giving the horses an edge to their movements along the well-maintained road.

For a while the two men rode in silence but for the steady beat of their horses’ hooves. Finally Bruschi could stand it no longer, and said, “You must be anticipating trouble in dealing with the Magistrate when Court once again opens.”

“Why do you say that?” Ragoczy responded politely.

“Because you are calling upon Signor’ Aulirios so late at night,” said Bruschi.

Ragoczy chuckled. “Both Signor’ Aulirios and I are accustomed to staying awake long into the night. There is no significance in the hour that I make this call except for our mutual convenience.”

Bruschi was so startled that the fight from the lanthom bobbed like a leaf in a flooding stream. “To be awake long into the
night...
that is most unusual.”

“Not for those of my blood, nor for those who serve us,” said Ragoczy, glancing over his shoulder to watch Bruschi.

His lapse nearly cost him a serious injury, for as he turned his attention from the road, half a dozen men in dark clothing rushed upon them from the low-growing border beside the road, the men shouting and waving their arms to frighten the horses.

“God Almighty!” exclaimed Bruschi, and dropped the lanthom as he attempted to keep his frisky mare from rearing and falling over backward at this onslaught. One of the men had caught hold of his cloak and was pulling on it in an attempt to unseat him; Bruschi struck out with his fist in an attempt to break free.

Ragoczy pulled Callista in, bringing her nose almost to her breastplate; he could feel her tension in the muscles of her back through the saddle as she swung around to face the attackers. Ragoczy drew his Japanese sword and raised it to strike as three of the men rushed toward him, one of them preparing to bludgeon the mare’s legs; the katana sliced downward, striking his shoulder and the man with the cudgel screamed and swore as Ragoczy pulled Callista back on her haunches beyond the reach of the adversary’s weapon. Unhampered by the darkness, he watched the miscreants roil around him, ready for anything they might do.

“Get the sword!” one man cried in German; Ragoczy used his leg to bring his mare around to face the voice just as a sword struck him in the small of the back, bouncing harmlessly against the hidden fran- cisca under his belt. Ragoczy shifted his grip on the katana and swung it upward, catching one of his assailants under his arm; the sword hardly paused as it severed the limb from the man’s body. The third man trying to halt Ragoczy began to draw back.

The fight was not going so well for Celestino Bruschi, who was almost out of the saddle; one arm was flailing, the other was caught in the reins. Two men were hanging on to him, and a third clung to the mare’s bridle. Even as Ragoczy pressed toward Bruschi and the men surrounding him and his horse, the mare kicked out with her rear feet, clipping one of the men holding Bruschi on his ribs. The man screamed and fell back, and the mare bolted, with Bruschi hanging half on and half off the saddle; the remaining opponents fled.

“Bruschi!” Ragoczy cried, and spurred after the mare and her rider who was now flopping against her side like a sack of grain. Just before Ragoczy caught the mare, Bruschi fell from the saddle with a sickening sound of a cracking melon; he crumpled into a heap under his cloak as his mare bolted into the night. Ragoczy halted his Andalusian mare and swung out of the saddle, the katana still in his hand as he went down on one knee beside the courier.

Bruschi was still and limp, and when Ragoczy touched his throat he could feel no pulse there. A further examination confirmed the man’s death. As Ragoczy cleaned the blade of his sword on the hem of his coat, he felt sadness for the young man, and wondered how he would explain the events leading to his death to Ettore Colonna; he did not know who had been the cause of the attack, or why it had happened: was it happenstance or something more sinister? for he had sustained two previous, unaccountable assaults. “I cannot answer that now,” he said as if to comfort Bruschi. With a sigh he gathered up the body and wrapped it in the cloak, then lifted it into Callista’s saddle, securing it in place with the spare set of stirrup leathers he carried behind the cantel of his saddle. Only when Bruschi was thoroughly lashed in position did Ragoczy take Callista’s reins and begin to lead her through the night toward San Procopio and the care of the monks sequestered there.

Text of a letter from Padre Bartolomeo Battista Tredori at Santissimo Redentore to Martin, Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte, both in Roma.

To the most revered, esteemed Martin, Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte, the prayerful and pious greetings of Padre Bartolomeo Tredori.

Eminenza, I write to you in the most humble posture, and with the fervent hope that if I have transgressed, God will be merciful to me for the sin I may be committing in sending this communication to you, for I am not divulging anything sealed by Confession, or I do not think I am. Were I unaware of the absence of your sister, I might not have had the audacity to write to you, but as I know Leocadia has been reputed to be in Spain, I believe it is my duty as a priest to inform you of my recent discovery, and beg you to use the information I am providing judiciously.

A short time since I received a summons from a man I did not know: he sent a messenger to me, begging me to come to his villa to hear the confession of a penitent to whom he had been extending charity for some while. I was perplexed by the request, but I complied, for as a priest, I am bound to serve those who are devout Christians. I had no idea whom I would encounter, but I went to the place with an open heart.

You cannot imagine my astonishment when the penitent turned out to be your sister, Leocadia. She was thin from her religious exercises, and I was told she was recovering from illness, which was the reason she wished to Confess. I could detect no sign of abuse in her beyond what she has done to herself in the name of expiation, which appeared to be stringent. I was able to hear her Confession and to minister to her soul even as her host had ministered to the hurts of her body. She asked that I keep her identity and location a secret, and I pledged to do so; at the time it seemed a reasonable request, given her desire to purge herself of all sin. I had no reason not to give her the oath she sought, and if I erred in allowing her to make such a demand of me, I acknowledge my failing to you. It was her stated conviction that she needed solitude to be absolved, and at the time I believed she was being wise to pursue such a course.

Now I am filled with doubt
,
and I can no longer support my own vow to keep her location a secret. I have prayed and meditated for several days on this, and I am now certain that is it my duty to inform you, as a Prince of the Church as well as Leocadia’s brother, of where she may be found. I do so in the certain conviction that you will honor the rite of Confession and will demand nothing of her that she does not willingly vouchsafe you, and I ask you to be merciful with her even as we hope that God will be merciful to us.

With that as a caveat, I must inform you that you may find her at the Villa Vecchia, owned by the foreigner, Ragoczy, Conte da San- Germain. I have seen nothing that would point to his exploitation of your sister: in fact, I must assume just the opposite, given what I have learned from his household staff. He has provided your sister with a maid and has been at pains to see that nothing transpired that might serve to compromise her honor or the reputation of your family. If there has been any untoward treatment of your sister during her stay at Villa Vecchia, no one has witnessed it, and there are no whispers among the servants to that effect.

May God open our eyes to His Glory and lead us to do His Will. I implore you to consider your sister’s suffering and to forgive her wild imputations and accusations, for this can only be the result of the austerities she has practiced upon herself. No one would find her charges credible, for they are ludicrous in all respects. On her behalf

I beseech you to be forbearing as you welcome her back into your household; she has punished herself severely and would gain nothing from further chastisement.

With my prayers for God’s Favor and Wisdom for you and your household, and with our shared gratitude for Alexander
VIII,
I sign myself,

Your most devoted, Padre Bartolomeo Battista Tredori

At Santissimo Redentore in Roma, on the day of the coronation of Pope Alexander
VIII

Deo Gratias

7

Four men-at-arms accompanied Ursellos Calaveria y Vacamonte to the Villa Vecchia; they arrived under blustery clouds on the morning of the first Wednesday in November. Their arrival brought the efforts of the workmen laboring on the new villa to a halt as carpenters and masons put down their tools to watch events unfold.

“Ragoczy!” Ursellos bellowed as he stood in his stirrups, a horsewhip coiled in his hand.
“Ragoczy!”
His clothes, with their ribbons and shiny fabrics, were more suited to Roman salons than this country villa. He had painted his face the night before and put a patch at the corner of his mouth and had bothered to remove neither; his wig needed brushing and his cloak had four short capes flapping around his wide-brimmed hat. Only his boots were practical: high, narrowlegged and sturdy, at contrast with the rest of him with sharp- roweled, rolling spurs buckled on. He intended to demonstrate his contempt for Ragoczy with his display of negligent opulence and social position and was disappointed that the foreigner was not immediately available to have the full impact of his arrival.

If this outburst was intended to cause alarm, it succeeded only sporadically; the door of the old villa opened and Rugerius stepped out. “Buon’ giomo, Signori,” he said as calmly as if he welcomed a consort of musicians or a group of scholars. “What greeting do you wish me to carry to my master?”

One of the workmen whistled through his teeth, and a few of his fellows chuckled, which served only to fuel Ursellos’ indignation; he reddened under his pale paint. “Your master has defamed our family! My brother has dallied and delayed in rescuing her; I am not so political a creature as he, and I have decided to act. Your employer has been laughing us. He will do so no more.”