Curse of Stigmata (The Judas Reflections) (10 page)

I could not disagree more; her delusions would surely bring her a bounty of sorrow. The only safe haven would be across the border to Spain and beyond. Drifting to Paris to purchase fancy dresses would be madness. Then again, why did I care what she did? I went back to searching for silver shekels, hopefully buried amongst the contents.

“Part of this collection surely belonged to your father,” I said. “There is far too much here to be donations for you.”

“Some. There was much more but he spent it drinking and on visits to the Maison’s de Tolerance. It was there he caught syphilis and lived in shame of his condition. He paid dubious physicians for all kinds of concoctions and supposed cures. Nothing worked. He would have died soon anyway. You just sped it along.”

Her words gave me pause as I sifted through the two piles of glittering metal. Isaac was under a prior death sentence, so perhaps my killing him was a merciful release from the final throes of a painfully disgusting disease. I began to think I had actually done the man a favor.

I closed my eyes and guided my hands gently through the pile. I found the first one quickly, the familiar warmth touching my fingers. When I opened my eyes, I beheld the familiar blue glow. But memories of my ultimate betrayal flooded back, as it did whenever I retrieved such a coin. Some visions were stronger than others, depending on the trail of blood in the coin’s wake. This one’s jolt was softer than expected, and I handed it to Juan for safekeeping while I continued to search for the second one.

“It’s almost like a sapphire,” he said in awe, while Rachel looked on with little interest. She obviously couldn’t see the cerulean properties.

“Yes, but where’s the other one? I don’t sense it’s here,” I replied in panic, not caring if either of them had the same appreciation as me.

“Emmanuel, let’s gather everything and take it inside. We’ll look together. According to Dario, Isaac always insisted there were two,” Juan, forever the practical thinker, carried the precious cargo inside.

Despite my initial hope, there was no sign of the other coin. I was frustrated and wanted to leave. But the lure of the second coin held me fast to where I stood. I wouldn’t give up so easily even if it meant staying until the last moment. Rachel gave nothing more away as she sat counting her riches, convinced she would soon head for Paris to become a mademoiselle.

“Parisian life is not so easy,” I said, hoping she’d see sense and reason. “You’ll have to be careful not to show your face too often. Dario will make sure you’re a wanted criminal. I hear they prefer to use the guillotine in the city. Not a pleasant way to die, having your head sliced off.”

“There is nothing for me in Spain,” she replied. The men are brutes and women spit. I can’t make a life there. I prefer to take my chances and hide out in the anonymity of Paris. No one knows me there. I’ll take another name and a rich husband.”

I had all but given up when Juan took over with his powers of persuasion. He spoke to her of migrating to far-off lands, like the new world of America. We would help her, he said, but only if she gave up the missing coin.

My neck stiffened in protest….had Juan lost his mind

“I honestly don’t know anything more about it,” she sighed. “It was my father’s domain, nothing to do with me. Perhaps he sold it, or had only one and bragged of having two. He was often prone to exaggeration. It became worse with the syphilis.”

There was barely any food, and the thought of sleeping another night on the hard floor was unthinkable. “It’s best we leave now,” I said. “We’ll be far enough away and close to the border by Racco, where we could hide out for a day or two.”

“Are you coming with us, Rachel?” Juan asked.

“Perhaps…. America could be an adventure,” she said, seeming slightly more sane and not near the liability. “I’ll come with you now and think about it, providing neither of you attempts to steal my gold. I will pay for my passage, even. But, I’ll say it one last time…. Judas, I do
not
know anything more about your coins!”

“I’m in the company of yet another 17th century bitch,” I whispered to Juan, who, lowered his eyes and snickered in response.

We set off once more, and this time our aim was to get as far away from the shepherds’ land as quickly as possible. Rachel had packed her precious cargo in a small sack, clutching it tightly to her chest as if her very life depended on it. She brought along a Dutch onion bottle, insisting it was worth too much to leave behind. I didn’t care what she brought, as long as she kept her antics to a minimum.

I couldn’t escape the disappointment about my missing coin. I focused instead in finding a good direction to Racco’s estate. That brought calm to my heart and soul, until foul weather fell upon us. Or, rather, our new debutante’s reaction to it.

“I don’t like the rain, it makes me sick in my stomach. A priest told me rain was poison for those with the stigmata. I need you to find me shelter quickly,” Rachel demanded.

“I’ve never heard such dribble in my whole existence. We keep moving,” I said.

“And who will make me… you?” she replied.

“Without a shadow of a doubt. If you wish to test me, go ahead.”

“Then I will, almighty Judas. Seeing as you don’t take me seriously, I’ll do just that.” She deliberately slowed her pace.

Her defiance was maddening, an ultimate test of my patience. Juan was faring no better, becoming more agitated the further we went, her snail’s pace finally getting the better of his good nature.

“I’m no longer the warrior or master swordsman you are,” he said to me. “This journey was supposed to be uncomplicated, an easy agreement. I didn’t bargain on a mere slip of a girl making my life hell.”

Rachel was indeed more than we had bargained for. With every bone in my body, I wanted to beat sense into her. But conscience told me no. Somewhere, deep inside, also lay compassion, unlike my father who beat my mother regularly for her non-compliance. One, two, three, four… five. I counted down as Rachel now stood stock still in the driving rain refusing to move.

“That’s it!” I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder while she kicked and screamed. I would carry her for as long as was needed, with not only the strength to do so, but also the determination to teach her a lesson.

“Lead the way Juan,” I said, my mood darkened.

“Try not to harm her,” he requested. “She’s a foolish young girl who doesn’t think before she speaks. I know your patience is tested by her antics, but do have a heart.”

“Do I appear to be beating her to the ground? No, I’m carrying her in the pouring rain. At least her feet won’t be soiled in mud, unlike mine.”

As luck would have it, we stumbled across a cave in the mountainside. It would be somewhat dry, a place to bed down for the night. Rachel didn’t like the idea and voiced her objection, but she needn’t have bothered. Having laid out her blanket, it wasn’t long before she fell asleep, leaving us grateful for the peace. I hardly slept, the noise of driving rain and high winds kept my attention, as did the worry Rachel could wake up and run away. I was determined not to let her out of my sight. She knew as I did where the coin was so, where she went, I followed. Neither hell nor high water would deter me from getting to the truth, convinced she’d crack sooner or later. At first light, with little said, we took off. The heavy rain made the rocky path slippery and hazardous in parts. But in spite of conditions, we were headed in the right direction this time. My instincts and attention to the map after two days of walking told me that we’d soon reach the welcoming site of the Racco residence. Though dry when we started out, now on the last stretch, the rain came down with alarming force.

“Bastard, you’re worse than my father. I’m soaked to the skin and will probably have pneumonia, thanks to you,” Rachel cried, accusingly.

“I seriously doubt your early demise or your claim to illness. Enough of this nonsense, keep moving,” I replied.

The door to Racco’s house was locked upon our arrival, forcing me to bang loudly in the hope he was still there. It was déjà vu.

“Racco, it is I, Emmanuel.”

A female figure, her head covered, cautiously opened the door. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Brigitte, it’s Emmanuel Ortiz and Juan Garcia de Moguer. Do you remember Dario who brought you here?”

The door opened wider and we were let in, and though Brigitte smiled in recognition, she remained evasive. Her unfriendly greeting a sure sign she had something to hide.

“Where’s Racco?” I demanded.

“Sick in the bed, through there,” she replied quietly pointing to a room straight ahead.

“Is Monsieur Comte here?”

“Yes, he is in the big room down the hall. Do you want me to take you?”

I was anxious to negotiate for a couple of horses to help us cross the border. How Comte would take the fact we were fugitives was yet to be seen, he was unpredictable. I found him sitting at the head of a grand table laden with fine food. Surprised to see me, he dropped a chicken leg and threw his arms in the air.

“Emmanuel, bonjour! What a pleasure, my fine friend. Racco told me you were in these parts. Who are these people?” he enquired.

“One is a good friend and the other is a rope around my neck,” I replied, unable to resist the sarcasm.

He laughed in response. “There’s far too much food, please, join me. I must commend you, on finding Brigitte. Racco told me you both made sure he was tended to while I was away. I appreciate your concern for my brother. So, what’s going on?”

“This man murdered my father; they are both on the run. It’s only a matter of time before they’re caught.” Rachel had made herself at home by already filling a plate with all manner of food. Not content with a free meal, she couldn’t resist opening her mouth.

“I know you’re in trouble,” he replied, dismissing her with a wave of a hand. “Dario sent word warning me not to harbor you. So, young lady, your confession of a crime means nothing. Besides, there are two sides to every story.”

My respect for Comte was immense and my concern for Racco’s health genuine. There was good news, he returned with a potent antidote and it was working. Racco was almost back to his normal self even though the small amount of poison he was given could have killed a dozen horses in seconds, his depleted immortality still managed to fend off the worse.

“He’s gotten himself embroiled in a steamy liaison with Brigitte. I’ve told him repeatedly, a lowly house maid is not for anything serious.” Comte remarked.

“Is that why he’s sleeping?” I joked, making sense of Brigitte’s sheepishness at the door.

“It seems the amount of passion going on in that room has cured his insomnia. I do wonder what the girl possesses. She’s not beautiful, nor has anything interesting to say.”

I looked to Brigitte, who was standing behind Comte, unfazed by the insults as she waited to serve her master and guests. Indeed, her face was plain, her eyes were set too close together and her lips were too thin. She had bony hands and a tendency to twitch, not the most enticing. What the attraction could be was beyond my comprehension. Rachel, on the other hand, a year or two younger, was, in spite of her aged skin, beautiful. Her large dark brown eyes sparkled like a cat and her lips, full and wide, were inviting. The fact I hated her so much didn’t distract from my male desire to make comparisons.

Comte couldn’t help but see the marks on her hands and she made no effort to disguise them as she devoured a leg of roast lamb.

“What have you done to your hands?” he enquired. “The marks are very strange. Are they burns, or scratches?”

I willed her to keep quiet. Unfortunately, it failed.

“I’m a stigmatic. I carry the wounds of Christ and when he feels pain, as he often does, I bleed out, mostly from all five points,” she told him proudly.

“Emmanuel, seems you are traveling with a hussy who needs to be locked away. Pretty she may be, nuts she certainly is,” replied Comte in his usual blunt manner.

For once, Rachel remained quiet, much to my relief. Although she flashed Comte a look to remind him she had been insulted.

“She’s prone to fantasy, it happens when she’s starved of food or attention. A silly little girl who never grew up,” I added.

In spite of Dario warning Comte not to help us, and time running out, it still felt good. For the first time since I’d came ashore and discarded Isabella, my equilibrium had been restored, even with Rachel tugging at my patience. I dove heartily into the tasty morsels on offer, as did Juan. Comte, always the finest host, brought out a large jug of the best quality Rioja wine. While Racco continued to sleep off too much passion and Rachel huffed and puffed her annoyance, we drank until intoxicated.

I don’t remember how I’d found a place to sleep, assuming I’d laid my head on the table. The next morning, I was bemused to find myself tucked up in a bed by a window. But all wasn’t what it seemed. To my horror, laying naked next me was Rachel, her long dark tousled hair unmistakable. I looked up to the heavens in desperation, willing myself to wake up from a nightmare, until I realized, I was fully awake.

“What are you doing in my bed? How did I get in this bed?” I asked, hoping for answers. There was no reply, she was sleeping soundly. “Wake up and tell me what you’re doing here, what happened. Did anything happen? …I don’t remember. Rachel?!” I pleaded.

Lying very still, as if my life depended on it, I waited patiently for her to stir and offer a logical non-sexual explanation. The wait seemed to take an eternity. When she did finally turn around and open her eyes, we faced each other. Neither of us certain what to say or do.

“Why are you in my bed?” I asked bluntly.

“I could ask you the same question, why are you in
my
bed?”

“What makes you think it’s yours when you don’t even know how I got here?”

“Neither of us knows how we got here. It was the terrible wine Comte gave me to drink. I knew I should have refused, it burnt my throat. I have trouble absorbing alcohol,” Rachel replied.

I’d landed myself in the most embarrassing situation. Where in God’s name was Juan? Did he know she was in my bed, or her bed? And what of Comte, Racco and Brigitte? There was a deathly silence in the house, as if no one was home apart from the two of us, lying together in discomfort.