Communion Blood (41 page)

“Leocadia.” The voice was soft and urgent, and the hand on her shoulder was gentle as it shook her.

Gradually she emerged from sleep, from portions of a dream that faded even as her eyes opened to find her room dark but for the candle Jose Bruno held; she was not surprised to see him. She smiled at her half-brother, then yawned. “It’s very late,” she said by way of greeting.

“Nearly three in the morning,” Jose Bruno agreed.

“Nearly three?” she repeated. “Then
what..

He motioned her to silence, saying, sotto voce, “I have a message I could not bring you when the household was awake.” He saw the alarm in her eyes and went on quickly. “Nothing unwelcome, I should
thi
nk.”

“Then tell me,” she said, sitting up in bed, her face animated.

“A violinist was playing outside last evening,” Jose Bruno began.

“Maurizio. Yes, I know,” she said hastily. “He was playing an air he used to play for me at the Villa Vecchia.”

“So you did recognize it; he was hoping you would,” said Jose Bruno. “I talked to him after Ursellos paid him to go away. He told me he came here out of concern for you.”

“That is ... so sweet.” Leocadia felt her eyes fill with unexplained tears as she remembered how good Maurizio had been to her. “What is his message?”

“That he is willing to do whatever you may ask of him to deliver you from the tyranny of our brothers,” said Jose Bruno. “Those were the words he used.”

“How good of him to be concerned for me,” said Leocadia, her eyes growing wet. This simple revelation brought home to her the full weight of her dejection. “I did not know he had so much sympathy in him.”

“I think he is more than concerned,” said Jose Bruno. “I think he is fascinated, or even infatuated with you.” He was serious enough as he said this to make it plain he was not teasing her. “That could mean difficulties.”

Leocadia bristled. “How could that be? He is someone willing to help me, which is more than anyone else has done. Except you. And the Conte. For all the good it did.”

“Don’t be petulant,” Jose Bruno recommended. “There is no time for it. If you waste time indulging yourself, I will not linger.” He went on more gently. “I only think you should be aware that there is more at stake here than keeping you from a political marriage. You could easily break the young man’s heart.”

Leocadia laughed. “If that is the worst that could happen—”

“It may
be
the worst that could happen to Maurizio.” He saw she did not understand. “Listen to me, Leocadia. You are fond of him as you would be of a dog; he amuses you: he is enamored of you, and that is a very different thing.” There was a quality to Jose Bruno’s voice that made Leocadia listen closely.

“You have known what you speak of,” she said quietly. “You have—”

Jose Bruno cut her short. “That doesn’t matter now. We must establish what is to be done, or you will be wed in a matter of weeks.” This blunt reminder nearly took Leocadia’s breath away. “Do you have any suggestions to make, or are you seeking to torment me?” “I have a recommendation,” said Jose Bruno deliberately. “I have thought about this every day since you returned.” He paused to be sure he had her full attention. “I have come up with half a plan.” “Half?” she repeated. “What good is half?”

“Hear me out,” Jose Bruno said, and launched into his idea before Leocadia could object. “Tell our Cardinal-brother that you will marry, but after Easter, so that you do not have to begin your married life with the austerities of Lent. Say also that it will give everyone time to arrange the wedding as a splendid event, worthy of Spain and Oldenburg, and not managed in some hidden, hasty way that could only result in gossip no one would like.”

“But I
don’t
want to marry that man, not with all the pomp or all the secrecy that can be arranged.” She stared at her half-brother. “I thought you knew that.”

“I do; and I want to help you get some time to arrange the means to leave Roma.” He motioned her to listen. “If it can be done at all, it cannot be arranged quickly. You want to escape this place and the husband Martin has chosen. As things are now, that is impossible.” Leocadia stared at him. “How
can
it be done?”

“I have been thinking about that since you came back.” He leaned down, lowering his voice. “You show your defiance, which puts our brothers on the alert. The more you resist this wedding, the more restraints will be put upon you.” He saw he had her attention, and went on. “But if you will seem to comply with Martin’s plans, pretend to accede to him, you gain yourself opportunities you now lack.” He laid his hand on her shoulder; she shrugged it away. “Do this, and you will earn our brothers’ approval. They will not confine you so closely, and they will permit you to go about with me for an escort.” He nodded as her eyes brightened. “Do you begin to grasp my purpose now?”

“I begin to think you have a purpose,” she conceded, doing her best to keep from finding fault with this partially formed plan.

“If you are too obstreperous, he will send you to the madhouse; he has said so to Ursellos. Martin thinks that a few weeks with the insane will bring you to your senses fast enough.” He regarded her, hoping he had convinced her without terrifying her in the process. “He is completely serious, Leocadia. He intended everything he says. If you thought the cell in the basement was hideous, you do not know what that can be.”

“I think I would rather be among the mad than married to Hubert Walmund—he is worse than Ursellos.” She pulled her covers up as if they could protect her.

“You think that, but you know nothing of the matter. The maddest are shackled to their beds and left to stink in their own excrement. Some of them howl all night long, like animals, and some lie and stare as if they are already dead. There is only bad food and darkness.” He shuddered; he could not keep from saying the rest, his voice a soft monotone making his revelations all the more appalling. “You forget our father confined my mother to such a place, and I know what it is like. I visited her three times. The first time she was still herself, protesting she had been confined wrongly, that there had been a mistake. She begged me to speak to our father, to plead with him to relent. When I did, he had me beaten. It was more than a year before I saw my mother again, and she was then lethargic, indifferent to where she was, more caught up with phantoms than what was around her. She had no message for our father. The third time I went to visit her, she was shackled to her bed because she had been bashing her head on the stone walls, trying to break her skull.” He blinked as if to banish his memories. “She may have been nothing more than a tailor’s daughter, but she did not deserve to die in that place.”

Leocadia swallowed hard.
“I...
I did not know,” she apologized.

“No. Only Martin knew; and I.” He sighed. “Martin is not jesting when he says he will send you to such a place. He will do it.”

This time Leocadia could only nod.

“Tell him you will marry after Easter, and promise him you will not rebel anymore.” Jose Bruno paused. “If you are complaint, he will leave you alone, I think.”

She understood his meaning. “I cannot bear to have him touch me again,” she said, nearly gagging on the words. She mbbed her eyes. “Will he believe me if I say I am willing? I have refused for so long, mightn’t he suspect a ruse?”

“You will have to be skillful. Do not change abruptly, but ask for more time to school yourself to his wishes. Tell him you will need a little longer to gain the resolve you need.” He managed a lopsided smile. “It is what he wants to hear, and he is vain enough to be convinced.”

“And you? What will you do?” Fright put an edge on her question and she began to twist the sheet in her hands.

“I have met a fellow who has sometimes carried more than wine- barrels out of Roma. He trades in the north, in Milano, Torino, and Genova. It is not easily arranged, but he will take you there, to Genova, and you can then find your way to France and any convent you choose. You will be safe in France.” He wanted to sound encouraging, though his recitation seemed impossible even as he made it.

“How much does he ask in payment?” Leocadia thought of her jewels, many of which would bring a handsome sum. In spite of herself, she was beginning to presume there would be the means of escape.

‘We have not settled on that,” said Jose Bruno. He bit his lower lip. “Once you leave, you cannot come back. Not ever. You will have to vanish completely. Think about what that means before you say you are going to do this.”

“I want to go. I want to vanish,” she said with purpose. “I will thank God on my knees for my deliverance if I can go away forever.”

“Think about it,” he repeated. “Tell me tomorrow night what you decide to do.”

She stared at him. “You are the only one who is good to me,” she marveled. “Of my brothers, only you care what becomes of me.”

He looked away, saying nothing. When he spoke again, his tone was distant. “What shall I say to Maurizio? He will come to play for you again.”

This was so unexpected that it took her a long moment to answer. “Tell him ... oh, tell him I thank him for his melodies. And tell him not to put himself in any danger on my behalf: Martin and Ursellos will not like having him come again.” She shivered, imagining what her brothers would do to the young musician if they thought he was playing for her and not for coins, and what they would do to her for having such a suitor.

Jose Bruno kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back at the same time tomorrow.” He stepped back. “Remember, do not consent too quickly. Ask for time to prepare yourself.”

“Yes. I will,” she promised as he closed the door, leaving her alone to think of some way to appeal to Martin and Ursellos to allow her to delay her marriage.

Text of a letter from Ettore Colonna to Ferenc Ragoczy, carried by messenger to Villa Vecchia.

To the Signor’ Conte da San-Germain, the belated greetings of Ettore Colonna, who implores you to forgive his long silence through the celebrations of the Nativity and Epiphany, and prays you will not hold this against him.

The death of my friend, Celestino Bruschi, left me so bereft that all I was capable of doing was grieving
;
I have withdrawn from the haunts of men and kept to myself in reflection and meditation—and occasionally in a stupor, if I must tell the truth. I was overcome with his loss, and could not bring myself to face anything or anyone. It was wrong of me not to thank you for trying to save him when you were attacked on the road, and so 1 do this now, with all my heart.

I have heard that Signor’ Aulirios’ case is finally to be heard on the third Monday in February. You must be anticipating the moment with anxiety as well as relief that the end is nearly in sight. I have no doubt that Podesta della Rovere will have reviewed all the material ■provided him and scrutinized it most thoroughly. He is basically a cowardly man, and as such, he is most meticulous in his legal conduct, for he has no wish to be found at fault by higher authorities. In your case, I believe his timorousness will serve you well. We must all hope for a
happy
outcome, for as you have said, the Magistrates’ Court is the place of final appeal. It will be settled now or it will not be settled at all, for if it drags on much longer, the Church will intervene and no one will benefit but the Pope.

The small entertainment I attempted for Epiphany did not go well. I am sorry to say that in spite of everything Maestro Scarlatti could do, my guests remained in a state of gloom; in retrospect I am glad you were unable to attend. But 1 hope you will do me the honor of coming to II Meglio for Carnival. With Alessandro
VIII
in San Pietro’s, I know that the festival will be kept merrily, unlike many years past when to have true gaiety, one had to go to Venezia. Roma will once again mark the beginning of Lent with the jollification of old, and II Meglio will be the heart of it. Do me the honor of attending. You need not come masked or in costume unless you would like to; I do not make such indulgences a requirement for my guests, nor do I discourage them.

On a more somber note, I have been thinking about Celestino, as I have mentioned, and I have come to realize that he might have died on my account, because he was my courier; in fact, I have surmised that this is the most obvious reason anyone might have had to waylay him, and you. I have enemies, Conte, and they would not hesitate to act against me if the occasion presented itself. And you have enemies, as well; there is no reason to assume any of them would hesitate to kill anyone in our employ if it would further their enmity. We must both take a lesson from this most tragic incident to be wary of our own safety. A I recall, you have told me of an attack in Roma by street roughians. The men who killed Celestino could have been just the brigands they seemed to be, or they may have set upon the two of you for a purpose. Even if the tragedy was merest chance, you, and I, would be foolish to think it was only that, if for no other reason than we may be marked men. I urge you to be Argus-eyed in your comings and goings, for if the killing was more than happenstance, it

is possible that those who oppose us may take inspiration from the slaying and act against us, singly or together. Do not fault me for seeing monsters in the shadows: there can be monsters anywhere.

Enough of these morose maunderings. I anticipate your response to my invitation with pleasure, and I pray on the event we have more to celebrate than the coming of Lent.

This brings my affectionate respect as well as my assurance of high esteem and continuing friendship,

Most cordially at your service, Ettore Colonna

At Roma on the 22nd of January, 1690

9

As he looked about the courtroom, Podesta Narcisso Lepidio della Rovere was dismayed to see how many people had come to hear the decision he would announce in this most perplexing case; there were nine high-ranking Churchmen among the illustrious curious, and Podesta della Rovere realized with increasing unease that his judgment would be subject to their scrutiny. He sighed as he peered down at the stack of parchment and vellum before him; he wished he could discover another excuse to delay his determination in regard to the suit before him, for he was keenly aware that his findings would not sit well with many of the Churchmen who had concerned themselves in the outcome to such an extent that they were in the courtroom to hear it. But there was nothing he could do about this, and he trusted he would not be criticized for coming to the only conclusion that was possible.