Communion Blood (12 page)

“So I have heard,” she said, reassured by this safe discussion. If only Ragoczy would devote the rest of the evening to small-talk, she would finally be comfortable. She felt herself shivering again. “It is cold tonight.”

“Winter is making its last assault. In a month or so, it will be spring.” He smiled at her, genuine warmth in his dark eyes. “If you are cold, I can pull a fur lap-rug out of this seat.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. We will arrive shortly; you will just get the lap-rug out and the footman will be asking us to descend.” The offer was another sign of his very excellent manners; few men were so gallant as to treat her well in private. “You are most hospitable, Conte. I am fully aware of it. I have not known many men who were as well-disposed to others as you are.”

“You need not say so, carina,” he replied. “I am pleased to serve you.” He heard the coachman curse. “Best hold the hand-strap,” he recommended. “We are about to go down the dip by the back of the Cameldolese monastery.” That meant it was just a quarter of an hour to his villa.

She reached out for the strap and not a moment too soon, for the carriage lurched and the brakes shuddered as Scarto did his best to ease the vehicle down the incline. Shouting encouragement to his team, and trying to keep the coach from tipping over demanded all the coachman’s concentration and strength, and he paid no attention to the peasant boy driving half a dozen goats toward the monastery until he was nearly on top of them. Then he pulled on the brake so that the wood howled, the carriage tossed, nearly righted itself, then fell heavily, leaving the horses to strain and whinny in panic as the weight of the carriage bore down on them. The coachman was bruised and his face bloody as he scrambled out of the driver’s box and reached to open the door on the side of the coach that faced upward. “Eccellenza!” he shouted as he tugged on the door.

Ragoczy’s response was calm. “We are all right. Perhaps a bit bruised. What of the team? Is the footman safe?” He looked over at Giorgianna, who lay tumbled against the window of the carriage. “Are you all right?” He blew out the lamp-candle, to prevent any possibility of fire.

She nodded. “Nothing to speak of. For God’s sake, get us out of this, Conte.” She looked about her in dismay. “What if we should be found like this?”

“I’ll have to climb out,” he told her. ‘Will that trouble you?”

“Lying here on the road is more troubling than—” She managed to bite back the recriminations that came too readily to her tongue.

Ragoczy gave her a swift glance of approval. “I will be as quick as I can.”

“Put the carriage upright and you may take until morning,” she said, an edge in her voice.

Ragoczy reached up and slapped the door. “Coachman. I’m coming out.”

Scarto mustered his thoughts. “I’ll help you direcdy—”

“Tend to the horses, man,” Ragoczy told him. “I will get out on my own, and my companion can remain safely here for the moment. The footman?”

“I’ll have a look,” said Scarto, and stumped around to the rear of the coach where he found the footman sitting on the ground nursing a wrenched shoulder. He shouted to Ragoczy that the footman was hurt but not badly. Then he went to deal with the horses. By the time Ragoczy emerged from the coach, the team was no longer plunging in harness; the coachman had managed to call them to order and was contemplating the carriage. “I think one of the wheels is broken.” If he thought it odd that Ragoczy no longer wore his wig and hat, he attributed their absence to the accident.

“The brake certainly is,” said Ragoczy, showing no sign of ire. The cold wind had wisps of fog riding on it and lending the air a keenness that cut to the bone. “Well. We will have to leave the coach here for the night. I fear I must ask you to unhitch the team and ride to my villa to bring back the lighter carriage. You might also alert the household that we will be coming, but a bit later than expected.” He regarded the coachman steadily. ‘We are depending on your good offices. Speak to my manservant, Rugerius. He’ll know what to do.” He laid his hand on the underside of the carriage, now facing to the west. “Are you willing to do this?”

“Of course,” said Scarto. “But do you want me to take the whole team with me, or leave two of the horses with you?”

“Leave one, in case we have need of it,” said Ragoczy. “The footman?”

“Behind there,” the coachman said, waving in the direction of where he had left the footman. He began to unharness the horses, piling up the tack he would not need against the driver’s box.

“I may try to right the coach while you’re gone,” Ragoczy called to the coachman. “I may be able work some leverage.” He was deliberately vague as to how he would do this.

“It’s hard work, Eccellenza,” warned the coachman. He had the lead pair free and was working on the pair of wheelers. “If we had postilions, we might not have tipped over.”

“Or we might have had more injuries,” said Ragoczy as he went to the footman. “Your shoulder is pulled.”

The man was white and his face shiny with sweat. “I fear so.”

Ragoczy bent down. “If you will permit me—?” He began to feel the footman’s shoulder, his small, strong fingers seeking out the damage. Superficial though his examination was, he could feel the bones at the top of the footman’s shoulder were farther apart than they should have been. “You are in a great deal of pain.”

The footman grunted, ashamed to make such an admission to his employer. If only he could keep his teeth from chattering.

Ragoczy removed his cloak and bent to wrap it around the footman, paying no heed to the man’s whispered protestations as he eased him back against the sloping ground. “You are cold and the garment will only interfere with my working.” He was more concerned for the abiding cold that had seized the footman; he knew from millennia of experience that such gripping gelidity was more dangerous than many injuries.

“Eccellenza, you mustn’t—” the footman protested.

“But of course I must,” said Ragoczy kindly. “Lie still and stay as warm as you can.” As he straightened up, he saw Scarto vault up onto the off-leader’s back, gather up and cut the reins to the mare’s bridle, then tugged on the gathered reins of the other two to pony the horses with him; the remaining wheeler neighed and pulled against his harness, trying to follow his departing fellows. Ragoczy went to the horse and calmed it, freeing it from the tangles of harness before tying it to the coachman’s box with the reins. “You can help me,” he said as he made his way around to roof of the coach. “Giorgianna,” he called, “I am going to try to right the carriage.”

“By yourself?” She sounded so incredulous that Ragoczy almost laughed.

“I have a horse to help me,” he answered as he bent to secure his hold on the side of the coach. “Take hold of the straps again, carina, if you would.”

She said something pithy he did not quite hear, then said, “Very well. I’m ready.”

Ragoczy signaled the horse to back up, knowing it would not do much more than drag the coach on its side unless he could use the impetus to raise it. Fortunately his compact body was much stronger than it looked, and in one emphatic effort the coach swung upward, coming to rest listing at a distinct angle.

From within the carriage Giorgianna squealed in relief and began to heap thanks on God, His Saints, and Ragoczy for sparing her any more embarrassment.

“I will help you down,” he offered to Giorgianna, his tone remote as he stared at the broad leather spring nearest his hand.

“I think I prefer to remain inside,” she said in sudden primness.

“No doubt,” he said sympathetically. “But I fear I must insist. You see,” he went on, his voice level, “the spring is about to break.” He studied the clean, deep incision in the leather. “Someone has cut it more than halfway through.”

Text of a letter from il Podesta Narcisso Lepidio della Rovere, Magistrate, to Ahrent Julius Rothofen. Presented under official seal by Magisterial courier.

To the most distinguished German gentleman of Archbishop Wal- mund’s suite, Ahrent Julius Rothofen, the greetings of the Magisterial Court.

Loath as I am to mention such a problem as this one, I feel it is mu duty to your master, Archbishop Walmund, to inform you of an unpleasant circumstance that has arisen in your petition: it has been brought to the attention of this Court that you have, among your bona fides, a Will imparting rights of inheritance to an illegitimate son that was apparently never recorded in the church where your records say it was. While 1 have no doubt as to your integrity in this affair, I feel you should be made aware of the questions that have arisen. This discrepancy provides your opponents with the means to call all your proofs into question, which is not what you would wish to have happen. If you are aware of some good reason why this Will is not recorded as you have declared it is, then I urge you to present this to the Court before the case is heard. You will need to produce sworn and notarized statements in regard to the lack of records, these from men—preferably Churchmen—whose testimony is beyond all reproof. These must be witnessed by well-reputed men, men of utter probity, and true copies put among the archives of the church where the records were said to be kept. Natural disasters often account for the loss of such records, as do wars. In either case, the sworn testimony of worthy men will suffice for my purposes.

I pray you will remind the Archbishop of my many sentiments of regard in which I hold him, and to what a high degree I esteem his calling. It is ever my wish to be of use to the Church, for what man of faith cannot be sincere without such aspiration?

To permit you to gather the testimony I have mentioned, I am postponing the presentation of the case until the second week of May. This should allow your factors to journey north and secure the testaments you will have to produce in order to be granted your inheritance. Let me impress upon you the urgency of this matter: should you be unable to do this, then I will be constrained to endorse the original Will of the late Atta Olivia Clemens, and permit her bondsman to retain her estates as stipulated in her Will. Should you require more time to secure such sworn statements, then I will be compelled to inform your opponents the reason for the second delay, and that might well work against your claim. Speed is of the utmost importance just now. Do not dally in your efforts, I implore you. Let me further urge you to keep the contents of this to yourself for should others learn of it, some would claim I have given you an advantage to which you are not entitled in such an action as the one you have before my Court. Such misconstruction could prove adverse to your cause, and might impede my efforts to do right in your cause.

Extend my highest affirmations of respect to Archbishop Walmund, and inform him I am always ready to serve him in any way I can.

Believe me, Signore, your most devoted Narcisso Lepidio della Bovere Podesta

The Magisterial Court of Roma By my own hand on the 29th day of March, 1689

When the light from the lanthorn struck her eyes, Leocadia winced. She lifted her hand as a shield. “Please,” she said. “Turn it away.” Instead Martin, Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte, raised the lant- hom as he came into the open door. “Have you been praying?” “And thinking,” said Leocadia, sounding more defiant than cowed. “Alone in the dark there isn’t much more to do, but wait for bread and water.” She calculated she had been in this improvised cell for ten days, but was not entirely certain. “I am a penitent. In this place I can be nothing else.”

He shook his head regretfully. “And you claim you want to be a nun. You complain of the dark and the simple fare after so little time, and still have the audacity to pretend you have a vocation?” He shoved himself a bit farther into the confines of the little room, his very presence seeming to rob it of air. “If this is beyond you, how can you profess a desire for the cloister? If your claim to a calling were true, you would welcome all that you endure, and you would seek more stringent means to show your humility.” Drawing himself up, he said in an affronted way, “Surely you know your life would be more austere in a convent than anything I have required of you.”

“If I were in the cloister, I would be beyond your reach,” she said contumaciously, trying to match his manner. She was not as certain of this as she hoped; a Cardinal had powers second only to the Pope, and the Church was his fiefdom.

“Not in Roma, dear sister, not in Roma,” said the Cardinal, watching Leocadia move away from him, trying to escape his presence. “No convent will accept you, should you try to join a Sisterhood. If any should dare to take you in, all the Sisters will be tried as heretics. I have put the convents on notice.”

Leocadia did not want to believe him, but could not summon up the courage to say so; it was exactly the sort of thing Martin would

do, she thought bitterly. The cell was so dark and so cold. Her clothes, she knew by touch, were filthy, and her hair was in complete disorder. She was chilled through and her whole body ached from the last beating her brother had administered three days ago. “You cannot want me to marry anyone with the pox,” she said, trying not to weep.

“I do not want you to marry a man with the pox—I want you to marry the brother of the Archbishop of Oldenburg. It is lamentable that he should have the pox, but that is not the reason the match is a good one.” He held up his lanthom and moved a step nearer. “You will do my bidding, Leocadia.”

“I can’t,” she protested, dreading what was coming. “You can keep me in the dark until I am blind, you can starve me to death, you can beat me until you kill me, but you cannot force me to marry a man with the pox. Even the Pope would support my refusal.” She made herself face him though the light stung and dazzled her.

“If you were brazen enough to speak of such a thing to Sua Santita, he might.” There was menace in every aspect of him, from the way he held his head to the abrupt way he thrust the lanthom toward her. “But no sister of mine will be allowed to mention such disgusting things to him. You should know nothing of such things, and neither should the Pope. If you should try anything of the sort, I will be forced to reveal the witchery you work on me, and that will put you beyond all redemption. We Spaniards have not yet forgotten that working magic on virtuous men is still a crime in the Church. We are not afraid to bum those who are servants of evil.” His wrath increased as his attack escalated.