Communion Blood (54 page)

Ursellos rode without regard for others in the way. Difficult as it was to move so quickly, he kept his roan at a trot. He overtook pedestrians and donkeys without apology. Once he knocked over a tradesman’s cart, and once he nearly sent a toddler hurtling into the air when the child did not move out of the way; Rothofen was forced to ride in the same disdainful manner which he began to enjoy once he got over the recklessness of it.

At the city gates Ursellos drew in and informed the Guardia officer, “We are bound for Anzio,” before he paid the necessary fee for them both to depart Roma.

“Do you think he will make a record of your lie?” Rothofen asked as they pressed their mounts through the throng at the gate.

“Probably not. We are too well-dressed to be questioned.” He laughed, a nasty edge to his mirth. “Who knows, we could be procurers for one of the Cardinals, or for the Pope. No one in the Guardia wants to know such things.”

Rothofen had been in Roma long enough to no longer find such a suggestion shocking. He grunted a response and steadied himself for their long ride; the blood-hay he rode was a strong animal with powerful shoulders and a magnificent neck, but the beast had a trot rough as a mountain stream-bed, and he knew the journey would leave him aching. He set his teeth and followed Ursellos along the road that had grown up beside the ancient Via Appia.

The afternoon was warm, and the breeze that came off the distant sea was slow enough to do little to cool the air. Soon the horses were sweating and blowing; for a league they slowed from a trot to a walk, Ursellos angry at even this minor delay. He swung around in his saddle and called back to Rothofen, “Do you know exactly where we are going?”

“Yes, I do,” said Rothofen, although it was not entirely true; he had only the directions supplied by the gardener to go on. “Sezze is the village, and from the central crossroad we take the road to the west, and then follow the southward track.” He was glad he sounded so confident, for he had no wish to have Ursellos question him.

“What about the hunting-box? How big is it?” Ursellos seemed more annoyed than he had been earlier. “Will we have to search it?”

“It is small. Two stories, one large room below, two bedrooms above, or so I have been told.” He was glad he could be so specific, for he was not eager to have Ursellos take his dissatisfaction out on him.

They went on for a short distance in silence. “We will get fresh horses at Alcano Nuovo. The Shepherd’s Pipe there has my brother’s horses stalled. If we must, we can change again at Doganella. That’s two leagues from Sezze, according to what I recall from traveling with my brother.” Ursellos was beginning to look grim, his dissipated features showing a kind of sullen determination that Rothofen found unnerving. “I have never been to Sezze, but I know where it is.”

“I have been there, once,” Rothofen bed; he had been past the village but had not entered it. “It was some time ago.”

“Do you think we can reach it before dark?” Ursellos was testing Rothofen; luckily the German recognized this.

“I doubt it. Even if we change horses, we will not be there before nightfall.” He had calculated the distance and thought that they would arrive between ten o’clock and midnight. Not wanting to discourage Ursellos, he said, “We might be there by nine.”

“I will order lanthoms for us at the Shepherd’s Pipe. They will supply them.” He turned around in the saddle and urged his horse back to a trot. “Don’t lag behind, Rothofen!”

“I won’t!” Rothofen shouted. He was starting to feel hungry, but doubted that Ursellos would allow them the chance to eat until they changed horses at Alcano Nuovo; that was at least two hours ahead— possibly three. Their whole ride would take more than six hours to accomplish, and seven was more likely. With half an hour to change horses, they would be at Sezze between nine and ten. He considered praying, asking God not to let the three escape, for fear of what Ursellos might do to him in revenge.

They passed three drovers herding cattle toward Roma which slowed them down once again. Ursellos did his best to get past the cattle as quickly as he could, but that proved to be difficult; the cattle were being kept close together and that did not make it easy to get through their numbers. A league farther on they had to pull to the side of the road as a carriage and outriders in Papal livery rattled by, bound north at a brisk trot; the six horses pulling the carriage were flecked with foam and the carriage was dusty.

“It must be urgent, to demand so rapid a pace,” said Ursellos, mildly interested. “The horses will be blown before they reach the city if they are kept on that way.”

“That may be,” said Rothofen, not wanting to argue the point. “I trust they will change teams soon.”

Ursellos started his horse moving again. “We will, soon. Alcano Nuovo isn’t far ahead. We should be there in under an hour.” He gave Rothofen no chance to speak; he nudged his roan to a trot.

Rothofen did his best to ignore the bone-jarring gait, posting grimly as a means of lessening the impact. He tried to admire the steady regularity of his mount’s action, but he took little consolation in it. Please God, he thought as they rode on, an easier trot for the remount.

Alcano Nuovo was a village dominated by a small piazza and a church dedicated to Santa Barbara that was not much more than a century old. The Shepherd’s Pipe was on the south side of the piazza, an establishment with some pretensions to graciousness; the stable attached to the inn had five noble devices blazoned on the doors, indicating the patronage of the families represented by the arms. Third among them was the crowned skull and the red cow on a green mountain of Calaveria y Vacamonte. An ostler lounged by the water- trough, his attention on a young woman crossing the piazza toward the church; he did not notice as Ursellos and Rothofen rode up.

“Ragazzo!” Ursellos shouted when nothing was done to make them welcome. “Remounts!”

The ostler glanced around, netded by the interruption. ‘Who are you to demand that?”

Ursellos swung out of his saddle, and holding the reins of his exhausted roan, advanced on the ostler. “I am Calaveria y Vacamonte,” he announced, pointing to his family’s device. “You have my horses stabled here. I want two of them saddled and bridled and ready to ride in half an hour. I want these horses fed and watered and stabled until I return tomorrow.” He poked the ostler in the chest. “Say it will be done.”

“It will be done,” the ostler declared, and caught the gold Apostle Ursellos tossed him negligently.

Ursellos held up his hand in warning. “When you choose the remounts, make them the most strengthy horses in the string.”

“Of course, Eccellenza.” He bowed, tugging his forelock. He had no notion if the young dandy deserved a title, but it seemed safest to give him one.

“What of the basket?” Rothofen asked as the osder reached for the horses’ reins. He got out of the saddle, preparing to loosen the straps holding the basket.

With a chuckle and a nod, Ursellos said, “We’ll have it later. For now we can eat a real meal.” He turned, leaving the ostler to his work as he led Rothofen into the inn, shouting to the landlord, “Wine and something to eat. Quickly!”

The landlord, a saturnine man with an obsequious manner, bowed deeply to show his compliance, his face revealing he did not regard Ursellos’ presence as a blessing to his establishment. He clapped his hands and issued terse orders, then said, “The second private dining room is available, Signore.”

“Is that the best you have?” Ursellos demanded, paying no attention to the pained expression on the landlord’s face.

“Cardinal Pignatelli has commanded the use of the larger private dining room, Signore Calaveria y Vacamonte. I regret that I must honor his earlier claim.” From the tone of his voice, he did not regret it in the least and did not care if Ursellos knew it.

“Cardinal Pignatelli?” Ursellos said, as if he could not place the powerful man. “Very well. For the memory of my brother, I will defer to Cardinal Pignatelli. But let him know that I did.”

“The door on the right, Signore,” said the landlord, pointing Ursellos in the direction, “You will have your food promptly.”

“Very good,” said Ursellos, motioning to Rothofen to come with him. The room was well-appointed but a bit stuffy, having been shut up for several days. The hearth was cold, but with so warm an afternoon, no fire was needed to make the two men comfortable. A table large enough to seat six stood in the middle of the room, with chairs drawn up to it. Shutters on the window turned the light to dusk. Ursellos flung the shutters open. “That’s better. Sit down, Rothofen. You might as well be comfortable.”

“If you do not mind, I will stand until our drink arrives,” said Rothofen, grateful to be off the hard-trotting horse. He could feel the tension in his back that would tomorrow become a solid hurt.

“As you like,” said Ursellos, and flung himself into the nearest chair. “My sister had better be where you say she is. I don’t want to have come all this way for nothing.”

“You have cautioned me on this point before.” Rothofen sighed. “Why would I want to make such a ride with you if I doubted my information?”

“That is the only reason I have come with you on this mad venture, that I do not—not entirely,” said Ursellos, looking up as a young man in cook’s clothes came into the room. “What is it?”

“There is pork, capon, and lamb hot just now. Tell me which you want.” He bowed as he finished speaking.

“A capon for me, and lamb for my companion. Bring plenty of bread, and any soup you have.” Ursellos pointed at the young man. “And send in a bottle of good wine, a Lachrymi Christi nel Vesuvio.”

The young cook bowed again and went out of the room.

“He will be back directly,” said Ursellos, leaning back in his chair. “You make me nervous; sit down, Rothofen.” Although he said it genially enough it was clearly an order.

“If you insist,” said Rothofen, reluctandy lowering himself into a chair.

An employee of the inn brought a bottle of Lachrymi Christi and put it on the table. “I will open it if this is what you want.”

“Go ahead,” said Ursellos, watching avidly as the cork was drawn and a generous amount poured. He drank, and said, “You may leave it. See that our food is brought quickly.” As soon as they were alone, he poured wine for Rothofen, saying as he did, “It’s better than I thought it would be.”

Rothofen took the glass and drank; the wine was good, which made him worry: Ursellos could be counted upon to drink a lot of it, and that could work against them. He was trying to think of some way to express his worry when the young cook returned bearing a tray with two platters, a basket of bread, and a tub of butter upon it. “Signore, keep in mind we have far to go.”

“All the more reason to eat quickly,” said Ursellos, shoving Roth- ofen’s platter in his direction. He bowed his head for thanksgiving, then reached for the fork and knife the young cook had given him; he ate greedily, paying no attention to Rothofen.

Resigned, Rothofen consumed his lamb in silence; ordinarily he would have found it tasty with its garlic and rosemary flavors through the meat, but now, with so many apprehensions weighing on him, the food lacked savor. By the time he was finished his meal, Ursellos was on his second bottle of wine. “Signore, it is time we left.”

“In a moment, Rothofen. I don’t want this to go to waste,” said Ursellos as he poured himself another glassful and drank half of it down. “The horses should be ready.”

“That they should,” said Rothofen, getting to his feet; he did not care how impolite this was, for he was determined to be away from the Shepherd’s Pipe before Ursellos could drink himself into a stupor.

Ursellos tossed off the last of the wine, pulled four gold Apostles from his purse and flung them on the table, and strode for the door. “I am ready. Come, Rothofen.”

Hurrying to keep up, Rothofen went out of the inn to find two horses waiting and ready; their saddles and possessions firmly in place. This time he was up on a dappled mare and Ursellos was given a chestnut with a fiery eye. The ostler gave each man a leg up and accepted a silver Duca from Ursellos before stepping back from them. As they set out, Rothofen decided to use the time to think, for he was determined not to let this chance pass him by. There had to be something he could do that would salvage everything for him, and he vowed to himself he would find it before they found Leocadia.

The road to Sezze branched off from the main way some four leagues below Alcano Nuovo. This was not the same fine old highroad that they had traveled on; this one was narrow and rutted, and forced them to drop back to a walk in order to keep the horses from stumbling on the rough surface. That meant it was dark when they finally entered Sezze, and were greeted by the barking of two dogs.

“Where is the road?” Ursellos asked; the euphoria the wine had provided had vanished about sunset and he was now in a sullen state of mind.

“There,” said Rothofen, who had been shining his lanthom about the darkness, looking for the signpost. “There. We are not far from them now.”

“Very good,” said Ursellos, dragging on the chestnut’s head to send him down the country lane toward the hunting-box; they still moved at a walk, a pace that was wearing on Ursellos. “Why don’t they keep their roads up?”

“I cannot say, Signore,” Rothofen said, keeping his lanthom moving so he could not miss the turn for the hunting-box. As it was, he almost missed it in the shrubbery that lined the road: that would have been unbearable, and he made sure that Ursellos saw the gate. “There. That is the way.”

The approach was lightly graveled, allowing the horses to trot safely in spite of the moonless night, a development that mollified Ursellos enough for him to say, “This is better.”

There was a light burning in the upper window of the hunting- box, and two mules waited below, boxes loaded on their pack-saddles. Someone was hauling a fifth box from the house as the two men drew rein.

“God and the Saints!” cried Jose Bruno, hearing the horses but unable to see them. “Is it time yet?”

“More than time, you ingrate!” shouted Ursellos as he vaulted out of his saddle.