Communion Blood (10 page)

Another musician came from the side room; he was better dressed than the previous man, his dark, fashionably conservative clothes set off by the pristine white silk of his camisa. He was of moderate height, about thirty years of age, with regular features and kindly brown eyes. His neatly curled wig was powdered white, making his straight black brows more prominent. Catching sight of Ettore Colonna, he made a leg and smiled. “Signore Colonna. A great pleasure to see you.”

“And you, Maestro,” answered Ettore Colonna. “I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to play for my guests tonight.”

“Che piacer’,” he said. “But then, you are paying us very well.” He glanced in Ragoczy’s direction. “I do not believe I have the honor ... ?”

“Signore Conte, may I present Maestro Scarlatti?” said Ettore Co- lonna. “Maestro, il Conte da San-Germain, Ferenc Ragoczy.”

Scarlatti smiled broadly and made a profound leg. “A
very
great pleasure, Signore Conte. I have looked forward to meeting you since I first received your letter.”

“Grazie,” said Ragoczy, although it was not necessary that he thank the composer, nor that he return the leg, he did. “I, too, have anticipated this moment.” In response to the inquisitive look Scarlatti shot him, he went on, “I have heard your music, Maestro, and I am most impressed by it.”

Scarlatti made no effort to hide his gratification. “You are most kind, Signore Conte. I hope to deserve it.”

“Certainly the Queen of Sweden is happy with your service to her Court,” said Ragoczy. “Napoli fairly rings with your praises, thanks to her.”

“I would not go so far as that,” Ettore Colonna said, cutting off Ragoczy’s appreciation.

“Nor would I,” said Scarlatti promptly, taking his tone from Ettore Colonna. “For if you anticipate too much, what can I do but disappoint you?” He did not wait for an answer but addressed his patron. “Signore Colonna, I have taken the liberty of bringing the new violinist I mentioned in my letters with me! He shows talent and promises great things to come. He must play in public to improve. I trust you will not refuse him this chance.”

“You mean you want him to play tonight?” Ettore Colonna asked, startled.

“Yes. He will not bring shame upon you, I promise you,” Scarlatti said. “He may even cause a sensation.”

Ragoczy saw the pleasure in Ettore Colonna’s brown eyes and realized this was exactly what Scarlatti had intended. “Who is this marvel, if you will permit me to ask?”

“Ah, Signore Conte,” Scarlatti declared. “You will be enchanted. He is a wizard on the violin. You cannot imagine how well Maurizio Reietto plays.”

“An interesting name,” said Ragoczy.

“The Sisters who raised him gave him the name. His mother was—” He stopped, looking directly at Ettore Colonna as he began

again. “His mother was in a brothel. She entrusted her child to the Sisters. They gave him his surname because his father was a Moor, and his Christian name because he has woolly hair and a broad nose.” “Is it so obvious?” Colonna asked sharply. “That he is mulatto?” “Yes,” said Scarlatti. “But he plays like an angel.”

“The violin is a demanding instrument,” said Ragoczy, who played it, viola, lute, guitar, and keyboard instruments with the expertise of long, long practice.

“True. He has the gift of it,” Scarlatti declared. “Once you hear him—” made a gesture implying capitulation.

Ettore Colonna grinned. “A half-Moorish lad from a Napoli brothel. Wonderful.” He clapped Scarlatti on the shoulder. “By all means have your protege play. I look forward to his performance more than you can possibly imagine.”

“I thank you profoundly, Signore Colonna,” said Scarlatti sincerely. “I did not think anyone but you would be willing to give the boy a chance. And I know that Maurizio will be grateful to you for all of his life.”

“How old is this Maurizio?” Colonna asked. “You make it sound as if he is barely out of leading-strings.”

“Sixteen, he believes. He has been playing since he was old enough to hold the instrument. The Sisters maintain their orphanage with concerts by their charges. He showed great talent very early.” Scarlatti dared to smile a bit. “I first heard him four years ago, and I was astonished. I have purchased an Amati violin for him, to show his ability to the fullest.”

“You purchased it?” Ragoczy asked, who owned two Amatis himself and knew them to be superior instruments. “For a sixteen-year- old musician?”

“He needed an instrument worthy of him. What else was I to do?” He looked from Ettore Colonna to Ragoczy and back again. “When you hear him you will understand.”

“I am all agog,” exclaimed Ettore Colonna, half in jest, half in earnest. “If he is a quarter of what you claim, his fortune is made.” Scarlatti inclined his head. “You will hear for yourselves: I have pledged it.”

“So,” Ettore Colonna said with relish, “we will have Signora Fer- rugia
and
this Maurizio Reietto to perform tonight?” As Scarlatti nodded, Colonna beamed and clapped his hands for servants. “Wine! Bring us wine! We must celebrate this extraordinary evening. A toast to Maestro Scarlatti and his musicians!”

Two footman appeared almost before the echoes of Ettore Co- lonna’s clapping died away. Both bore a tray with four goblets upon it, and both hurried up to Colonna to proffer their wine. One of the two frowned at the other, but the other stood his ground.

“An embarrassment of riches,” Ettore Colonna cried as he reached for two goblets, holding one out to Ragoczy.

Ragoczy held up his hand as Scarlatti took a goblet for himself, “I thank you for your kindness, and I most assuredly wish every success to Maestro Scarlatti and you. But I do not drink wine.”

Text of a declaration by Niklos Aulirios, submitted to the Magisterial Court of Roma.

Under pain of perjury, and with an oath before God for the salvation of my soul, I declare that the following items are true.

Item One: That I am Niklos Aulirios, native of Greece.

Item Two: That I was personal bondsman to the Roman noblewoman Atta Olivia Clemens, a widow, from the day she acquired my bond until the hour of her death in December of 1658, when the holocaust at Villa Vecchia exploded, collapsing one wing of the building upon her.

Item Three: That in her Will, she named me as her sole heir, as she lacked sons or nephews or cousins to whom she could bequeath her properties; no other blood relative was named in her Will for any purpose whatsoever.

Item Four: That, in accordance with her stated wishes recorded in her Will, I have striven to maintain her properties in the manner she wished.

Item Five: That I have not profited from the sale or other disposition of any of her lands or other goods, livestock, or chattel that would diminish the sum of her estates.

Item Six: That I have not sought to defraud any man of any inheritance legitimately made, nor do I do so now.

Item Seven: That I have authorized my late employer’s blood relation, Ferenc Ragoczy, Conte da San-Gerrnain, to represent my position in this test.

Item Eight: That Ferenc Ragoczy, Conte da San-Germain, although a blood relation of Atta Olivia Clemens, has made no claim and will make no claim on her estate, as testified to in the declaration appended to this one.

Item Nine: That I uphold my claim to the estate which was legally left to me; it is my contention that any claim upon this estate is the result of fraud and unworthy of consideration by the Magisterial Court, or any other legal body.

Item Ten: That I proclaim my rectitude in this, and I pray before Almighty God that the truth of my claim prevail.

Duly submitted Niklos Aulirios Witnessed by Padre Orlando Rastrello Notary, Gesuita

Sworn to on the 2nd day of March, 1689, at Senza Pari, provincia di Roma, in the presence of Ferenc Ragoczy, Conte da San-Germain.

5

It was a perfect note: a pianissimo B-flat, pure and high, floating over the soft pizzicato of the strings. Giorgianna Ferrugia spun the note out, then cleanly dropped an octave-and-a-third, ending the song as the orchestra sobbed out a G-minor chord. There was a moment of silence and then applause filled the Santa Cecilia hall; she acknowledged it with a curtsy and a slight smile, then she walked off the stage, into the wings and Ragoczy’s arms.

“They adore you,” he whispered as he kissed her, her brocaded taffeta skirts rustling against the silk of his justaucorps; the brim of his hat cast their faces into shadow.

She lingered in their kiss, making the most of it, then stepped back as the applause grew more insistent. “They will want an encore,” she said, tweaking the lace of her corsage, taking care not to shift her jeweled necklace.

“Then you must give them one,” he said, relinquishing her to the demands of the crowd. “Or more, if it seems wise.”

“I suppose so; Maestro Scarlatti and I have prepared three. I imagine we will do two at least,” she sighed. She looked at him longingly, then turned back onto the stage, returning to the center where the light was brightest. She smiled at the audience in their finery, noticing two Cardinals among the attendees. “I will sing ‘Gli Occhi Brilliant e Cari’,” she announced, and nodded to Alessandro Scarlatti, who lifted his cane to give the downbeat to his musicians.

This was a livelier and showier piece, with runs and fioriature throughout its intricate melody. Giorgianna sang with verve, showing off the agility of her voice in leaps and roulades that delighted the audience. When it was finished, the ninety people were enthusiastic in their response. Under the shining candelabra that filled the hall with their brightness, Giorgianna could see that almost all were applauding. She glanced down at Scarlatti, saw his signal, and began, Scarlatti’s own setting of the Milanese folk-tune, “La Civetta,” which most of the audience knew, and with which one or two hummed along. Her flourishes in the third chorus silenced those the hall in rapt admiration. It was an easy finish to a triumphant evening, she thought as she again sallied toward the wings.

Ragoczy made her a profound leg as if she were nobly bom and not the daughter of a sausage-maker from Assisi. “Brava, carina,” he said to her.

Flattered as she was, she held out her arms to him, preferring passion to courtesy. “You need not. How gracious of you, when I have you to thank for this. If you had not hired the hall and paid Maestro Scarlatti and his musicians, there would be no—” She waved her hand in the direction of the stage where the sound of the applause was just beginning to die down.

“You discovered that?” he asked in mild surprise. “I wonder how.”

“Maestro Scarlatti told me last night. He thought I knew.” She wanted to sound accusing and failed utterly. “Why did you say nothing to me?”

“For such a trifle? It was hardly worth mentioning: a favor, carina, nothing more,” he said as he went to embrace her, holding her tenderly as the treasure she was. He finally told her the one thing he had hoped he would not have to admit. “I did not want you to feel beholden to me.”

“But can I not be grateful?” she asked, her head on his shoulder. She had a bewitching smile and knew how to use it.

“I would rather you not be,” he said ruefully, “since it is unnecessary.” He could sense her emotions: jubilation vied with desire, and satisfaction was tinged with burgeoning greed; it saddened him to realize their affaire would be even briefer than he had first anticipated. When he kissed her this time, his pleasure was no longer unalloyed.

She clung to him now, her hands on the heavy silver links of his jeweled collar where it lay on his shoulders. When she broke her hold on him, she was breathless and her color was heightened in her cheeks. “You are so good to me, Conte,” she said, ducking her head as if this admission embarrassed her. “I do not know what I have done to deserve your many kindnesses.”

“You needn’t concern yourself,” he said gently. “Do you want to take another bow?”

She listened to the applause, evaluating it. “No. They are beginning to leave, and they are now more interested in one another than in my singing.”

“More fools they,” said Ragoczy, touching the artlessly curling tendril of hair at her ear. “They can compare clothes and jewels at any time; you are a unique marvel.”

“And you the most elegant of them all,” she said, smiling her satisfaction. “Diamonds in your rings and rubies on the links of your collar with a pectoral of silver and black sapphire: silken clothing of a quality to equal the Pope’s. No one can compare with you.” She was only half a head shorter than he so she did not need to look up at him. “I know that when I am seen with you, no one can doubt I have arrived.” She kissed him again, this time playfully. “Between you and Maestro Scarlatti, my future is made.”

“If this is what you want, what can I be but delighted?” Ragoczy was not troubled by her directly voiced ambitions—such candor was usually impossible for Roman women since the time of the Caesars— and he admired her for it, as he had admired her deliberate pursuit of him since they met, three weeks ago. He had been amused at first, and then, when Scarlatti had told him that Giorgianna’s pursuit was in earnest, he had allowed himself to succumb to her determined lures. A week ago he had sent her a diamond pin and asked if she would spend an evening with him, an offer she had accepted with alacrity.

“And I am thankful to you for offering to write songs for me, Conte,” she went on, as if mindful of her lucky happenstance; just using his title made her exhilarated. “Maestro Scarlatti spoke well of you and your music. If he had not, I might not have realized your worth for months.”

“Again, what can I be but delighted?” He had offered to compose a cycle of songs for her, based upon Carissimi’s Cantata
Sciolto hav- ean dall’alte Sponde,
a project that would serve his purposes as well as hers. He held out his arm to her so she could lay hers upon his, saying, “The musicians are leaving. We should probably do the same.”

“No doubt; it is time for our tryst,” she said, mimicking his tone. His slightly old-fashioned courtesy charmed her as much as his generosity did, and she strove to suit her tone to it. “II Maestro will not expect me to linger?”

“Not tonight. It is late.” Ragoczy understood her hesitation. “Whatever he wishes to discuss with you about your performance will wait until tomorrow.”