The Shades of Time (39 page)

He'd slept
little, partially because not even their thick walls could muffle
the telltale sounds of his son's impressive stamina. But mostly
he'd fretted over the confusing mountain of information that the
woman had reluctantly offered under his unrelenting attack. He
understood little of the particulars but the broad outlines were
clear. Each world existed as a shadow of the other. It mattered not
how. He was willing to leave that conundrum to men of letters who
would spend lifetimes analyzing and arguing and coming to false
conclusions.

He regretted
inflicting so much pain, but it was a necessary consequence to
justify learning what he could. Time was never on anyone's side and
he'd learned early on not to rely on it. Cosimo disliked causing
his son dismay, and to his surprise he realized he also felt
compassion for the woman and the difficult choices she would face.
What those choices would mean to his son.

He understood
their current precarious situation, swords at every throat, the
fate of the continent teetering on shaky alliances, ill-begotten
marriages and the insatiable hunger for power.

All he wanted
was peace and an opportunity to build a legacy of prosperity for
Tuscany and the Famiglia Medici. What he foresaw was war and the
disintegration of his direct line, but not the house. That would
survive. But only if Nico and the strangers averted events that
still lurked in the shadows.

He wondered if
he would ever see any of them again.

"Sire? I
brought your meal." Tomas set the tray on the bench and joined him
at the window.

Cosimo said
quietly, "It feels unsettled, does it not?" He looked up at the
clear sky and shrugged. The coming storm he sensed had nothing to
do with the weather. Turning to his secretary, he smiled grimly and
spoke with a voice filled with remorse, "Sometimes it is better not
to know."

Tomas looked
confused for a moment, wondering if that were a question he was
expected to answer. When Cosimo returned to gazing out the window,
he asked instead, "Shall I have Stefano's quarters prepared,
sire?"

Cosimo ignored
the question and moved to sit on the bench. He surveyed the food on
the tray, lost in thought.

"Sire?"

"Take this
away. I'm not hungry."

Tomas picked up
the tray and said again, "Stefano's quarters, sire."

Irritated at
the man's persistence, he barked, "No," then apologized quickly and
said, "Not yet, Tomas."

The man quickly
retired, leaving Cosimo alone once more. He wandered back to the
window and gazed at the wind rustling the trees.

With a sigh, he
muttered, "Not yet."

Chapter
Twenty-Nine

Andreas prowled
the narrow halls with increasing frustration. Veluria's presence
was everywhere and nowhere, yet so far he'd failed to penetrate the
barriers she'd so cleverly erected. He'd not detected that kind of
power when first he'd become aware of her presence and he puzzled
over its source.

The few times
he'd managed to caress her senses he'd found they opened like
petals on a rose, the scent sweet and intoxicating, yielding as she
was trained, as if she'd been created solely for him.

"Father, a
word." The Monsignor grabbed his arm and propelled him quickly to a
small alcove where they could speak privately.

One thing
they'd learned early on, the walls had eyes and ears. Little
escaped the voyeuristic Duke and his lackeys. It had taken his
considerable skills to determine the few places where he and the
prelate could talk undisturbed.

As the
Monsignor chattered on about packing up their entourage and heading
back to Venice, he raced through all the possible reasons he could
bring to bear to convince the man to stay.

"Your
Holiness." Desperation gave his voice an edge that caught the
prelate's attention. The man looked down at him curiously.

"Well?"

"The Medici son
is here for a reason."

The Monsignor sneered, "Of course he is. He and his father,
that
merchant…
" he
spat the word with distaste, "…are simply currying favor with a man
who stands to gain a position in the Reichstag."

"But…"

"Cosimo's no
fool. He's not going to rely on that idiot pup, Stefano, to see to
his plans being carried out. The boy's use is to provide heirs," he
snorted and leered at Andreas as if he were somehow to blame, then
continued, "but from what we've seen and heard, that won't be
happening anytime soon."

Andreas
sputtered, "But Cosimo can't possibly know…"

"Oh don't be so naïve, boy. Of course he knows.
Everybody
knows. Why do
you think he dragged Nicolo from Carlos' court? He needs to make
sure Friedrich doesn't go off and make alliances with undesirable
elements in the Reichstag." He chuckled, "Not everyone is on board
with Maximillian's grandson as heir apparent."

"But, Holiness,
you cannot know that for a fact. There may be other reasons, and if
we leave precipitously, there will be no way to know or to
safeguard your and Venice's interests." He stood to his full
five-feet-eight and stared at the prelate, prepared to use his last
trump card. "The Papacy goes whichever way Florence goes. If
Friedrich is as unreliable as you suggest, then would it not be in
your best interest to have an ear in the court so that you may be
alerted ahead of time."

The Monsignor
considered Andreas words and said, "That idea has merit. But I
still plan to leave, tomorrow if possible. The seasons turn and
travel will be difficult, if not impossible soon."

Andreas' gut
churned. He hadn't received the dispensation he needed to justify
remaining behind. He wasn't so foolish as to think the Duke stupid
enough not to recognize a blatant spy when he saw one. Right now he
wandered the halls unremarked because he'd been billed a
simple-minded monk of no consequence. As part of the Monsignor's
group he was invisible. Alone he would stick out like a sore thumb
and come under the very watchful eyes of the Duke's enthusiastic
guard.

He also did not
wish to be singled out for the Friedrich's special attentions.
Though he hadn't seen the infamous 'parlor' himself, he could well
imagine what delights it might hold. He appreciated a man with
eclectic tastes, having his own particular interests, but he had no
intention of being on the receiving end of perverted sexual torture
under the guise of religious fanaticism.

He might not
have been the best student Matteo ever had when it came to history,
but the Inquisition would seem tame compared to what the fair Duke
considered righteous retribution.

Andreas called
down the hallway to the Monsignor's retreating back, "Holiness,
wha—?"

"I will think
on it, Father. See me on the morrow."

Frowning,
Andreas spun in the opposite direction. There was little to be
gained from fretting over things he couldn't control. It would be
better to gather more information while he had the opportunity. He
had no intention of returning with the prelate to Venice.

For now he
needed to figure out why no one had seen the Medici pup for over a
week. The Duke's daughter, Wiltrud, was known to spend her evenings
in meditation in the chapel. She was most likely praying for divine
intervention to relieve her of the burden of a loveless marriage or
thanking her deity for having the foresight to provide her father
with a new toy and leaving her, and her sisters, to go about their
lives relatively free of parental intervention.

If he were a
betting man, he'd go with door number two.

****

Veluria
wriggled on the uncomfortable bench, the stays cutting into her
ribcage and precluding any thought of actually enjoying the
generous repast set out by the Duke's kitchens. A hunter by
avocation, the man's passion provided an astonishing array of table
fare: wild boar, venison, pheasant, rabbit and small birds that she
assumed were quail.

The keep that
housed the banquet hall was part of the original ancient structure
with thick walls, a perpetually dim interior and the dank musty
smell of too many unwashed bodies intermingled with wet dogs and
stale urine.

Surprisingly,
she was the only female in attendance, the duke's daughters
feigning illness or disinterest in affairs of state. In any other
court it would have been construed as rudeness of the highest order
but the Duke seemed content with the arrangement, and none remarked
on the oddity.

If Nico was
concerned, he made no show of it, entering into easy banter with
Friedrich, trading hunting stories and court gossip. Her lover was
a natural in the ways of the court, just as his younger brother
was.

As for Stefano,
they had yet to meet with him. Friedrich apologized effusively for
the inconvenience. He'd had no idea they would arrive so soon and
had sent the young man on a 'mission of some importance'.

The fact of the
matter was he shouldn't have had a clue that the castle was their
destination. They'd driven hard and fast, making sure any layovers
did not include potential spies who could alert the Duke to
unwanted visitors.

Their initial
audience had been a long drawn-out affair, tedious in the extreme
but it had given her an opportunity to observe Friedrich's two
remaining daughters, the eldest having been recently sloughed off
to a neighboring duchy.

The youngest,
Margaret, was perky and given to a quick smile. She was attractive
in an adolescent unformed way, flat-chested, narrow-hipped, but
with wide-set eyes and clear complexion she gave the impression she
might someday grow into a reasonably attractive young woman.
Hopefully not like the older sister, Wiltrud, Stefano's new
wife.

Calling her
'plain' was being generous. She carried a perpetual scowl that
spoke to a difficult disposition and a sharp tongue. If Stefano had
had a choice, he would have chosen the immature Margaret in a
flash.

Idly she
wondered if the woman's scowl had anything to do with her new
husband's very particular tastes. Despite the rumors about
Friedrich, the castle staff had been singularly tight-lipped.
Neither Nico nor she had been able to glean any useful information
about what actually transpired in the lower reaches of the
castle.

Paulo had had
more luck in the town located near the river winding through the
foothills. He and his men spent their evenings there, building
rapport with the merchants and innkeepers with their generous
patronage. Drink loosened tongues enough that Paulo could piece
together a picture of fear and loathing for the man who provided
protection for the region. That protection came with a steep price.
Nearly every family had lost a member, or knew of someone who'd
succumbed to the Church's vigilance and the Duke's insatiable
'appetites'.

Nico had
presented Friedrich with a few 'trinkets'—an array of baubles and
silver that would have amounted to a king's ransom. Cosimo had
casually thrust the chest into Paulo's hands before they'd left
Florence. Had she known what the chest contained she might have
insisted that their ten man retinue was hardly sufficient for the
rigors and dangers of the trip.

The elder
Medici had chosen the gifts well. Friedrich was a peacock, sporting
an elaborate brocade tunic edged with fur over a shirt of
exceptional quality, the weave so tight she could have sworn it was
silk. His new jewelry—an ornate ring and gold necklace—were
remarked upon often during the course of the evening.

Feigning
weariness, she excused herself and left the men to the serious
drinking. Instead of heading to their quarters, she turned left and
followed a hall that she guessed might lead to Stefano and
Wiltrud's quarters. The stairs circled down to a lower level. She
took them cautiously mindful of her skirts and the potential for a
nasty fall.

The entire day
she'd been uneasy, with little to occupy her thoughts while Nico
was out and about with Friedrich. She practiced maintaining her
shields, using Nico's additional power to buttress her own
diminished capacity. Though erratic, the 'episodes' as Nico called
them, still plagued her, leaving her temporarily weakened.

It had been
Nico who'd discovered the Brotherhood operative lurking about the
castle. He'd recognized the man from Veluria's description and had
set one of his men to keep an eye on the cleric.

The man's
presence validated her assessment that time and history approached
a confluence in this place. He had arrived before them, part of a
group from Venice claiming Papàl indulgence for the newlyweds. Nico
doubted Leo was aware of or had sanctioned the visit. But he simply
made note of the fact and dismissed it. The party was due to leave
the next day. Fewer players on the stage made it easier to narrow
the list.

I just wish I
knew for what…

Low voices
emanated from behind plain wood doors on which a cross had been
inscribed. She assumed this was the chapel but it seemed late in
the evening for services. She paused, straining to hear the words.
Two voices, a man and a woman. From the accent she recognized
Wiltrud's strident tones. The man was unknown to her but when she
heard him say his name, Andreas, a sense of recognition washed over
her.

Putting herself
at risk did nothing to help them resolve the dilemma they all
faced. She turned and huffed up the stairs, the stays and her
skirts making progress difficult. Retracing her steps she
eventually found their quarters and gave a sigh of relief. It
turned out to be premature. When she opened the door Nico stood by
the bed, his face set in a grim line. He looked ready to murder
something … or someone.