Curse of Stigmata (The Judas Reflections) (4 page)

I was at the foot of the Great Pyrenees, although the journey by carriage would only take us a quarter of the way up. It was enough of an adventure to whet my appetite for excitement. I was exhilarated at the thought of climbing. Not a popular avocation, according to Dario. People who lived in the region preferred the flat lands where they could admire the tall peaks from a distance. Our decision to climb was viewed as a sign of insanity, many locals accusing Dario of being reckless and putting our lives at risk.

“He knows these mountains like his own skin, no matter the weather. He’ll get us there faster than anyone I know,” Juan said, staying firmly in his friend’s corner.

“I’d like to make a short detour,” I said, pulling out a map.

“You never mentioned anything about changing our route. What’s so intriguing you’re delaying the journey?” Juan was concerned and his remark valid. But then, he’d known me long enough to expect the unexpected. He knew to expect me to be full of surprises, occasionally mischievous and often devilish.

“I need to visit Racco. If I remember correctly, his chateau is near here, somewhere at the foot of the mountains.” My reply astonished Juan more than Dario. It had been centuries since he heard me mention my immortal friend and former journey companion, Racco St. Germain.

I was relieved to no longer have Isabella in my company. One glance at Racco, with his piercing blue eyes and handsome rugged features, she’d have succumbed to his charms and wealth in a second. He in turn, though regarding me as a friend, would have no resistance to a beautiful woman and no morals as to whether she’d be attached to another.

A true lady-killer, more skilled than I, immortality came to both he and his brother Comte in the form of an elixir created under an experiment. Racco claimed the precious recipe for eternal life was the genius of his adopted father, Kazikli, who claimed both boys after a great battle between Xerxes and Alexander the Great. Racco and his brother were legends. Their forte? Making merry with wine, women and song, while they gathered properties and amassing a fortune in the process.

“Here—here,” I said. “The carriage needs to follow this road, and there is the chateau.” I pointed to a spot on the map, certain it was correct. No one could doubt or argue the decision, since I was paying for all expenses, pandering to all their desires. I intended to seek out Racco, not just for old-time’s sake. He could prove useful.

Juan, however, was skeptical, “Three immortals in one space, do you not think it dangerous, so much ego bursting to take control? Why don’t we get back in the carriage and make our way? Dallying here is a waste of time.”

I wanted us to get along; Dario seemed a nice enough chap and Juan was a rock. But it could already be three immortals if Roderick Cooley had agreed to join us. I missed him terribly, as he needed to attend to personal matters in Ireland. Fortunately, the pair succumbed to my direction, and we located Racco’s residence a few hours later. I knocked loudly on the large wooden doors, praying someone answered.

“Qu’est ce que tu me veux?” a worried voice called from behind the door.

“Je cherche Racco,” I responded.

Whoever was behind the door was unsure of the voice asking for Racco. It didn’t sound like him. For all I knew, he might have sold the chateau and moved on to Constantinople. His favorite female hunting grounds. Eventually, my persistent knocking, the door slowly creaked open to reveal a half obscured figure.

“Racco, is that you? It is I, Emmanuel. In God’s name man, open the door!”

Something had scared him enough to not open the door, whatever it was filled him with such fear as to be suspicious even of an old friend.

“We could try breaking it down,” Dario remarked.

I dismissed the idea as preposterous. Surely my good friend will see it’s me, know my voice and feel safe in my presence. “No dramatics, I’ll persuade him to let us in. Be patient.”

For a whole hour, I attempted to communicate even though I was hungry, and my wits were frazzled and frayed. I pleaded with the hidden figure still remaining behind the now closed door to let me in. Every so often, he would entreat me to go away. I determined to remain persistent, believing he in turn would weaken, to such an extent that it would become tortuous
not
to open the door. After what seemed an eternity, my plan worked. The door opened to reveal a red-eyed version of Racco.

“My God, what happened to you? Je ne comprends pas?” I said in disbelief.

“Stop speaking in your bad French, dismiss the carriage and bring your friends inside, as quickly as you can!” he whispered.

On his orders, we complied. Once inside, I saw the full extent of his pitiful condition. “What on earth has happened?” I remarked. “The last time we met you were full of vitality, now, you look like a pale shadow of yourself, the living dead!”

“I am sick… very sick. Something terrible occurred a few months ago. Comte has left to get help, I’m all alone.”

Still he would not reveal what happened, preferring to explain his physical condition repeatedly, causing Juan to run out of patience.

“What in God’s name is going on? Emmanuel arrives here on account of your letter of return. In it, you claimed great enthusiasm to see him. Why, then, don’t you confess the problem? I assumed it was something good friends did.”

I dared not to disclose the truth of Racco being an Alchemist. Juan and Dario would belly laugh and pat him on the back for a tale well told, while I defended his honor. His profession was frequently looked on in suspicion at the best of times.

All I wanted was to sit down to a hearty meal in fine company and have a bed for the night. I didn’t need complications setting in.

“Where are the servants Racco?” I asked, seeing no one.

“They ran away, and who can blame them? Look at me, I have been poisoned by arrowroot mixed with something from my own alchemy. A deadly concoction slipped to me by a servant who was paid by a charlatan purported to be my friend. Now I look as I have the pox.”

Upon hearing the word pox, Dario moved away, obviously fearing he might catch the hideous disease. I remained where I was, observing the regal hall of Racco’s sprawling chateau, once pristine in condition, now decaying and unclean.

“Why don’t you both go into the main room?” I suggested to my companions. “I’m taking a stroll with Racco, into the gardens.”

Compliantly following with his shoulders drooped, Racco walked with the aid of cane, a withering man, dying on his feet. I needed to know what was really going on.

“We both know it takes more than poison to kill us. Could it be your immortality coming to its end or, is it something else?”

“It was to do with the vineyard and money. A new acquaintance, a man called Bastien, a merchant from the Dordogne, came to me with a business proposition concerning wine exports. I assumed he was successful. Little did I know he had no money and a devious plan.”

Racco continued to share his story, but struggled to talk in his weakened state. Having manipulated his way into the chateau, Bastien then made himself comfortable at his host’s expense and proceeded to concoct a potion laced with monkshood and hemlock. For a mortal it would be a hasty death, but not for Racco who found himself suffering and struggling to recover. If I were to find Bastien Bergenoir, who vanished soon afterward with a bag of jewels, I would induce the same fate. To watch this cowardly excuse of a human quiver and die in front of my eyes would be justice indeed.
Lex Talionis.
An eye for an eye.

“Where’s Comte? How could he abandon you like this? I will go to the village and hire a girl to help you; I can’t leave you in this state.”

“He traveled to Germany in search of an antidote. There’s no abandonment, I urged him to seek help.”

Comte St. Germain had been enraged at the theft from under his nose while he was busy with a local maiden he’d cajoled into bed. Not knowing his brother writhed in agony on the floor not far away. Comte was helpless in the throes of passion according to Racco. Suffering a deep sense of guilt for failing to catch Bastien had driven him to seek out relief for his precious brother. Both were skilled alchemists, yet neither could find a cure. I silently prayed Racco’s immortality would strengthen up again with time, resulting in the poison having little or no effect. I’d never seen him so weak.

I arrived at the chateau with the enthusiasm of a small child eager to see a good friend, only to find him disintegrating before my eyes.

What will be next? A mammoth climb up the mountain, to find the shepherd had gone off with his flock and moved to pastures new? It hadn’t been the best of centuries. Much had gone wrong, forcing me into periods of nothing where I’d languish for decades twiddling my thumbs. Perhaps Isabella’s wild notion of becoming a nun did make sense. I could become a monk and hide behind the walls of a monastery never uttering another word—at least until the next century. The idea seemed enticing, if not for the wretched coins that haunted my soul.

I brought Racco inside to find Juan and Dario helping themselves to a carafe of wine they’d discovered while sitting close to the empty fireplace expecting some kind of heat. The winds chilled us all, but Racco could barely move an arm let alone light a fire. Upon seeing our distress, Juan and Dario offered to gather wood while I searched for food.

Racco followed me like a lost child, his clothes falling away from his emaciated frame, bony fingers twitching and his lifeless eyes sunken. But within half an hour, we’d organized a fire. I found vegetables and garlic growing in the garden. Chopped and infused with a strong red wine, Juan created a stew, its delicious smells bubbling away on the stove.

“This feels better,” remarked Dario, quietly. “I no longer believe I will freeze to death.”

he following day brought fresh worries. I didn’t care to leave Racco alone, who appeared had stopped sleeping altogether. He desperately needed his rest. There were a number of visits to my room, where he insisted I rub his belly. I put the insanity down to the poison. He would never behave this way, even when intoxicated. I instructed Juan and Dario to take Racco’s carriage and find a peasant woman to take care of daily chores until his brother returned.

“Make sure you say there is nothing to catch, he isn’t diseased. It’s just a case of severe stomach problems, nothing more.”

No one wanted to witness a poor wench screaming and running from the chateau imagining she’d become infected. Racco’s face and body were full of sores, which could easily be mistaken for something worse. They soon returned with a girl looking not a day over fifteen years.

“This is a child!” I exclaimed, mortified at the sight of this tiny girl.

“I’ve been assured by her father she’s strong and able to cook well,” said Juan. “Her name is Brigitte. The family is destitute, so why not try her out? If…
when
we return, if she has not fulfilled her duties, you dismiss her.”

She looked at me shyly from lowered eyes, as if direct contact would be an indiscretion. I explained her duties while Racco looked on suspiciously.

“What are those sores?” she asked him, tentatively.

“He has allergies, nothing for you to worry about.”