Communion Blood (49 page)

“I am aware of that,” said Ragoczy, squinting ahead through the mizzle. “That is why I am perplexed by your willingness to help Maur- izio, and Leocadia, and her half-brother. Yes, I recall what you have told me, but I am still in a quandary.”

“You doubt my motives?” Ettore Colonna challenged.

“No. They have never been unclear to me. But since Leocadia witnessed the murder of her brother, she might protect herself with her testimony, and none of this would be needed.” He saw the pale marble pillars of the belvedere ahead of them.

“That is the very heart of the problem: her testimony,” said Ettore Colonna. “Mind the steps down; they’re slippery.” He followed his own advice, saying nothing until the two of them were in the entry of the hexagonal building. “I am afraid there is good reason for concern.”

“Any time the Pope’s Little House is a possible residence, there is reason for concern,” said Ragoczy. “Is there anything about Leo- cadia’s situation that makes it more so?”

Ettore Colonna smoothed his moustaches. “I think there may well be. You see, according to what Maurizio told me,
she
killed her brother.” He paused. “With scissors.”

“She?” Ragoczy repeated, not nearly as surprised as he thought he would be. “Leocadia killed the Cardinal.”

Ettore Colonna muttered confirmation, continuing, “From what I have been told, the Cardinal attacked her carnally, and she killed him to stop him. Jose Bruno confirms the story, though he is not a very good witness, considering he is reputed to be a half-wit. Maurizio says they told him it wasn’t the first time the Cardinal had done it, that it had long been the Cardinal’s practice to make his sister his whore.” He spoke flatly, with less emotion than he had shown when he pointed out the irises. Under his wide-cuffed boots the herringbone pattern of the floor was shiny wet.

“You believe her?” Ragoczy asked, curious as to the answer he would receive; as he recalled her stay at Villa Vecchia, he knew beyond cavil that he did; he had sensed the anguish in her penance that was more than rebelliousness or madness: this served to confirm what he had perceived without defining. He had a brief, poignant memory of Xenya, whose life had been blighted by a rape she could not have prevented, and another of Olivia, whose husband had forced her to submit to brutal men for his own gratification.

“You mean do I think a Prince of the Church would try to force himself incestuously upon his sister? Of course I do.” He lifted his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “When you live as near the Papacy and all its adjuncts as House Colonna does, nothing surprises you, except, perhaps, sanctity.”

“I see,” said Ragoczy, who could not argue the point with him; in his long, long years of life he had seen Popes of every nature and disposition, and Cardinals with the same range of character.

“It’s the power; I saw that even when I was very young,” said Ettore Colonna, flipping back the hood of his cloak and slightly adjusting his curling wig. “They all come to think it belongs to them instead of God. There is no one to stop them doing as they like, and so they tell themselves that their satisfaction is God’s Will. They decide that their position makes them capable of acting in God’s stead, and from there, it’s an easy step to convincing yourself all you do it right as long as you have power enough to do it.”

Ragoczy said nothing for a long moment, then told Ettore Colonna, “I hope you do not tell others this is what you think?”

“Of course not,” said Ettore Colonna, crossing himself. “I have not got to my present age by being a trusting fool.” He studied Ra- goczy’s composed features. “Nor have you.”

“Precisely,” said Ragoczy, and looked at the lake. “Your ancestor did a splendid piece of work.”

“Or his builders and gardeners did,” said Ettore Colonna, by way of agreement. “There have also been decades for the place to weather. The rain helps.” He walked to the edge of the belvedere. “You have nothing like this at Villa Vecchia. Are you planning to add formal gardens?”

Whatever Ragoczy’s reply might have been was lost as Mauiizio stumbled onto the uneven marble floor of the belvedere. He was dressed in a traveling cloak and the most ordinary clothes, as if he were a draper or an ordinary clerk; his kinky hair was tied back and without powder so that he would hardly attract any real attention. “Signor’ Conte!” he exclaimed as he came up to Ragoczy. “Thank God you have come. You did not have to, so I am doubly grateful you did: I did not think you would...” He stopped himself. “But you are here and you will listen to me.” His words tumbled out in a rush. “I have no other way to say it but to plead with you. Please, please, you must help us! It is imperative that we ... I was afraid you would refuse to see me. I was about to despair.” He dropped on one knee. “This is a most difficult petition to make, but I beseech you to hear me out. Our lives are in your hands. You must help us,” he repeated in a frantic msh. “You must!”

Ettore Colonna remained where he was, near the edge of the open building, staring out into the rain. “Welcome, Maurizio,” he said over his shoulder.

“Oh! Signor’ Colonna, you are so very kind to us. I cannot tell you how much your kindness means to us,” Maurizio said, looking mildly embarrassed that he had neglected to acknowledge his host.

“Do not bother about me, lad,” said Ettore Colonna. “It is Ragoczy you must convince.”

Maurizio nodded, swallowing before addressing Ragoczy once more. “We must leave Roma, and the Papal States. We must go beyond the reach of the Holy Office, or we will all pay a terrible price for remaining. We have done nothing deserving of punishment, not really. We will be imprisoned if we remain, and we will rot in prison. You have ships and you can get us away. I beg of you to do this for us. If we remain in the Papal States, we might as well die at once and spare the Holy Office the trouble.” He noticed that Ragoczy was listening intently, and pursued his point. “I know I shouldn’t just blurt it all out like this. I would do this better if we were not so wretched. Conte, we are abject.” He steadied himself, trying to appear more self-possessed. “This is not the way to approach you. I know I should present myself more properly, and ask your support in the approved form, but I haven’t
time.
We must get away before we are discovered or all will be lost.”

“While that may be true,” said Ragoczy in a manner intended to calm the young musician, “is it really so urgent? I do not deny that you would be well-advised to leave, but why now? You make it sound as if you must be outward-bound in a fortnight. I am aware that you have good reason to want to get away, but just now the hunt is on for you, and the ports are more carefully watched than usual, which would make your departure more hazardous; I am being watched, as well, and so I must be provident in making any plans. It would be better to wait awhile longer, until the hunt is called off. By midsummer, there will be other problems to occupy the Holy Office, and you may slip away with far less risk than now.” He did his best to sound encouraging. “I can probably arrange to find you a place on a ship, but it would be better if I have a month or two at the least to—”

“No. Oh, no,” Maurizio interrupted, his features distorted by the intensity of his despondency; it sagged his face, making stark lines at odds with his youth. “You don’t understand. We cannot wait any longer. We must be away from here at once.”

“Are you in danger of discovery?” Ragoczy asked, knowing that would be more than enough reason for haste.

“No,” said Ettore Colonna before Maurizio could answer.

Maurizio rose and began to pace, his steps impetuous and uneven. He held his hat in one hand and twisted it with the other. ‘We cannot remain here any longer.”

Ragoczy watched the young man move, recognizing the tumult he could not contain. “It certainly is inadvisable, I agree, but in this case—”

“You don’t understand,” Maurizio burst out. “She is with
child. His
child.” He stopped still, aware that Ragoczy and Ettore Colonna were staring at him. “Her last courses were in December, and she is increasing.”

“Cristo in Croce,” Ettore Colonna with more piety than he knew. “She will deliver in August.”

Maurizio shook his head repeatedly. “And we must be gone well before then. The longer we wait, the harder our travels will be. There is something more: she will not marry me, not while we are in the Papal States. I have asked her and asked her and
asked
her, but she refuses. She is too frightened to go to a church, no matter what I promise to do. I cannot persuade her that she must do this. Nothing will change her mind, and if she will not consent to marry, her child will be known for what it is, and
...”
He waved his hand in dismay. “She says that the priest would betray us, and we would be taken before the Holy Office at once. If we are gone from here, in a Protestant country, then she will many me.”

“Is that what you want?” Ragoczy asked quietly.

“More than anything. No matter how she got that baby, I will see she and it have a home. I am an orphan. I would not permit her child to live as I did, not while I have strength to care for it, and for her.” His voice was more subdued but there was no lack of fervor in his avowal. “Jose Bruno will help, too. He has sworn that to me.”

Ragoczy nodded once. “I assume Jose Bruno is with her now.”

“Yes,” said Maurizio, and stood as if abruptly out of words.

Ragoczy went up to him. “Does she know you’re doing this?” Maurizio could not meet Ragoczy’s dark eyes. “She knows I have come to speak to Signore Colonna. I said nothing about you. She would have forbidden me to leave if she knew you would be here.” He tugged at his hat. “She does not want anyone more to know what happened. She is afraid someone will tell the priest, and the priest will inform the Holy Office.” He crossed himself.

Ettore Colonna was watching Maurizio with increased concern, his heavy dark brows drawn down over his deep-set eyes; he said nothing but his silence was eloquent.

“You have no reason to fear me on that account; I will say nothing to anyone but Signore Colonna and Maestro Scarlatti, who know something of your plight already, and may be relied upon to keep silent,” Ragoczy said quietly, though to his mind, too many men knew of this already. There was a remaining uncertainty nagging at him. “What does she say about the baby she carries?”

The question struck Maurizio as if it were a stone, for he flinched and pulled back. “She says it will not live, that it is so tainted, it is not fit to live.”

“I see,” said Ragoczy, vast compassion in those two words. “So she does not share your hopes for your escape.”

“Of course she does,” said Maurizio, the heat back in his voice. “She is just so scared, and so ... so filled with worry, that she cannot let herself believe we can win free.”

“Just so,” said Ragoczy, who suspected that the situation was more precarious than Maurizio was admitting. “Then, as you say, there is some urgency. That makes it more problematic from my point of view. It may mean improvising.” He saw Maurizio’s shoulders droop, and went on more heartily. “But I am fairly resourceful; I can find some way to accomplish what you ask.” He paused. “I am troubled about what you tell me of Leocadia’s state of mind.”

“She is upset,” Maurizio said quickly. “Anyone would be.”

“Yes. Anyone would be,” Ettore Colonna agreed, unexpectedly. “A pregnant woman, all the more so, for they are then subject to the humors of childbearing. I do have sisters, you know,” he added. “And nephews and nieces.”

This was the current wisdom and Ragoczy was not going to be

distracted by the remark; he kept his gaze on Maurizio. “Is she in good health? given that she is with child? Has she weakened at all?” “I don’t know,” said Maurizio, becoming upset. “She says nothing about it, or not to me; she may speak with Jose Bruno. She fasts on Wednesdays and Sundays. Her face is wan, but she has many terrible memories to weigh upon her,
so...”
He shrugged the end of his thought.

Ragoczy knew better than to show the alarm he felt. “This is not wise, not if you are going to travel. She must be strong for her voyage, or she and the babe will suffer for it. She can fast when she is delivered.” He saw the wariness in Maurizio’s face. “Tell her you have spoken to a midwife, if you must account to her in some way.” “That is what my sisters have always been told,” Ettore Colonna confirmed. “If she starves herself, she starves her infant.”

Maurizio ducked his head in a show of compliance, but his unease continued. “There is trouble with ... You must understand, with the baby what it is, she has no ... She ... She is
not...
she doesn’t
want...”

“That may be,” said Ragoczy. “But it is too late for her to be rid of it without grave risk.” He saw the startled look Ettore Colonna gave him, and said, “A child is no blessing when it is got as this one was.”

“And apothecaries do a thriving business in such philtres as will end unaccountable babies, yes,” Ettore Colonna said. “But this is no mere beginning, when such things are easily managed. She is well along in her breeding. You said her last courses were in December, and any remedy she sought now could be harmful. She would not want to try stopping it now, not if—”

“Stop it!” Maurizio cried, forgetting himself. “She had such a chance and refused it. She said if God had sent the babe to her, He could take it away.” His face was wet from more than rain. “Jose Bruno pleaded with her to see the herb-woman, but she would not and now it is too late.” He began to pace again. “If she does not leave this place, I do not know what she might do to herself. Or the child she carries.” He looked directly at Ragoczy. “When we are far away, she will be able to restore herself once again. If she remains

here, she will be in as much of a prison as if she were in the Pope’s Little House.”

“That would not be advisable,” said Ettore Colonna at his driest. “Not with what the good Fathers would require of her.”

Ragoczy’s memories of Church prisons were still sharp from his long incarcerations in the New World; he could hardly bear to think of such hardships imposed on Leocadia, who had endured so much suffering already. “No. You are right. She must not be abandoned to the Church.” He stared at Maurizio. “I will do my utmost to secure you passage to the Lowlands or England. The voyage to the New World is too long and the conditions there too harsh for a woman in her condition.”