Communion Blood (13 page)

This threat shook her to her heels. “My brother. You must not. You cannot.” She crossed herself, her hands visibly shaking. “I swear it is not my doing. I would do nothing, nothing, nothing to cause you to—It must be some infernal spirit that claims us both—” She was unable to finish as his open hand slammed against her cheek.

“You are vile,” he whispered. “You are the get of Satan Himself.” He was breathing faster as the back of his hand stmck the other side of her face; his rings left ruddy marks on her jaw. “Are you so lost to all your sins that you do not know when you are guilty?” His hand stmck again twice with increasing force. “How can you suggest so appalling a thing? It is you—
you
—who brings depravity to me. You are spawn of devils!”

She could back up no farther, so she hunched down, trying to escape the blows. His hand bunched into a fist and slammed into her chest. With a single howl, she dropped to her knees, the air seeming to bum in her lungs as she strove for breath. As she steadied herself, she felt her skirts flung up and suddenly the weight of her brother was on her back and hips, so intrusive that she nearly fell.

“See how you degrade me!” he shouted in her ear as he plunged into her dry, resisting flesh three agonizing times before shuddering and collapsing upon her.

The burden bore her down and she lay under him, still struggling for air, crying from outrage and shame. She knew what was coming next, what always came next when he sated himself on her. “Martin. For the love of God—” She held up her hand imploring him to spare her any greater humiliation.

He shoved himself to his feet fumbling with his clothing and trying to steady his breath. Before she could persuade him not to, he lashed out, his foot thudding into her ribs. “Whore! Pernicious woman!” He kicked her again, then stepped back, smoothing his soutane and running his hands through his hair; his voice had gone up half an octave in pitch, and he wheezed as he went on, “You have tempted me again, haven’t you? I come to admonish you to righteousness and you pervert my duty. You think I do not know your purpose? Leocadia? You suppose I am ignorant? All these years you have preyed upon me, and you think I do not know? You want to drag me down to your depths. But I will not be mined by you. No.” A third kick sent her sprawling onto her side. “You have disgraced me. I will not permit it.”

“Then send me to a convent, where I may spend my days in repentance,” she begged, pulling her knees toward her chest and crying miserably. Was it possible? she asked herself in a distant, numbed part of her mind. Had she, all unknowingly, caused him to attack her?

“No, No. You will mariy as Eve married. You will be the handmaid of your husband.” He loomed over her, disgust and odium making his features look like a mask from a play.

“No,” she whispered. She could not look at him, for she had no doubt he was right: she lured him in some way so native to her that she did not comprehend it. “You must not punish me with such a husband. Isn’t it enough that I bring shame to you?” So much sin had to be bred in the bone; she should despise herself for how she had brought her brother to the brink of damnation. “I never meant ... I have no desire to
..Suddenly
she vomited, and curled more tightly into herself out of abasement.

“You will marry who and when I say,” her brother told her in a cold voice. “And you will remain here in the basement until you are contrite enough to make you receive your bridegroom with true submissiveness, not this cozening modesty.” He gathered his clothes about him and swept out of the cell, pulling the door closed behind him.

The return of darkness was oddly welcome to Leocadia, who huddled on the floor, her arms wrapped around her body, an enormous ache blooming in her, a terrible flower that sent its odor through every particle of her being. “I can’t,” she whispered as she would pray, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Much later—she supposed it must be well into the night, for the noise in the kitchens above her had subsided to nothing more than the occasional sound of a scullion making the rounds to be sure all the fires were banked—there was a sound outside her cell door, a soft sound, between a murmur and a purr. She ignored it at first, as if she thought it must be rats or more disgusting vermin. But when it became more persistent and audible, she recognized her name. This sent a new frisson of terror through her and she managed to struggle to her feet and shuffle to the door. “Go away,” she said, quietly and distinctly.

“Are you all right?” came the soft voice on the other side of the door.

Ordinarily Leocadia paid little attention to her half-brother, for he was not only a bastard, he was known to be simple. But tonight was different. Just his voice jolted her and she had to steady herself against the door. “Jose Bruno,” she whispered, hardly daring to hope for an answer.

“Leocadia,” he said, as if overjoyed to listen to her speak. “You are cold?”

“Yes,” she admitted, though she feared her brother Martin could

hear every word and would punish her for talking to their unfortunate relative. She could not summon the courage to tell him to go away.

“And hungry, too?” He did not seem to be upset about this, and so she did not hesitate to answer.

“Yes.” In a sudden rush of embarrassment, she remembered she had vomited earlier. What sort of disgusting creature was she that she would consider eating now, no matter how famished she was? She had been living on bread and water for as long as she had been confined to this basement cell, and the dreariness of her fare was offset by its infrequent appearance. “I am very hungry.”

“Do you have shoes?” The question was so wholly unexpected that Jose Bruno had to repeat it before Leocadia could gather her thoughts.

“I have no proper shoes, only felt slippers,” she replied, wondering what the young man meant by asking her such things.

“Then I will bring some,” he said, not quite merrily, but with a jauntiness that alarmed Leocadia, who was beginning to think this was a very clever trap her brother had set for her.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, but remotely, as if she were an orphan promised a feast at the Mass of Christ.

“I’ll be back when the house is asleep,” said Jose Bruno.

“That’s good of you,” said Leocadia, who realized she would be grateful for his company. “But don’t put yourself in danger for my sake.”

“I am not in danger—you are,” said Jose Bruno, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him. “Martin has been in a rage since he came to pray with you. Everyone is in uproar. In the third hour after midnight the whole house should be asleep. I’ll come back then and get you out. If you stay here, he will kill you.”

“At least it would be over,” she whispered.

“I could not bear that to happen,” he said, slightly louder. “If I do not do something to stop him, I will be as guilty as he. When he beats you to death.” He managed to drop his voice again. “So I must get you out of here.”

She could not believe this was possible, especially not for this dull- witted young man, but she was grateful that he would care. “I thank

you for your efforts, Jose Bruno,” she said quietly. “But you should not.”

“If you stay, he’ll beat you again, and again,” Jose Bruno warned her. “Do you want that to happen?”

She shuddered at the thought, feeling sick. “No.”

“Then be ready.” There was a rush of excitement in his admonition. “I’ll try to find some clothes for you, as well as food and shoes.” “All right,” she said, beginning to be angry at him for giving her false hopes. “This is good of you.”

“You aren’t out yet. It will be good of me when you are,” he said, the ghost of a chuckle in his voice. “Don’t fall asleep, will you?” “No. No, I won’t,” she promised, doubting he would return. She could not abandon all hope, though she knew it would be wise to do so, for another disappointment would further crush her spirit and make it increasingly difficult to resist Martin’s demands; he already had cause enough to despise her, and would be grateful for any excuse to be rid of her in order to preserve himself from the sin she brought upon him. The enormity of what she had done to him bore in on her, filling her with self-loathing so intense that it sickened her. How could she commit such unspeakable sin and not know it? Had the Devil made her so blind to her own faults? She heard Jose Bruno’s soft steps fade, and the blackness of her cell seemed vaster once he was gone. Feeling her way back to her heap of musty straw that served as her bed, she was nearly overcome with despair. Despite all her efforts, it had happened again. What was wrong with her? How did she behave, that Martin should be moved to use her so? Her long hours of prayer and meditation had brought her no revelation. Perhaps Martin was right and she was truly lost to grace. How could anyone as corrupt as she dare to plead for intercession? Jose Bruno was as good-hearted as he was simple, so his kindness was nothing more than the friendliness of a child. Yet no one else had shown any compassion for her, for detestable as she was, she could not deserve any. She was so alone! In her prayers even God refused to comfort her. Doubtless He, like her brother, found her despicable, beyond salvation and unworthy of the sacrifice of His Son. No wonder her prayers were ignored. She squatted down in the comer, rocking in misery, her whole being consumed with wretchedness.

The night deepened. Household sounds, rarely loud enough to penetrate Leocadia’s cell, grew infrequent, then ceased. Slowly her rocking ceased and she fell onto her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms around her legs in a belated effort at protection. She was in too much pain to sleep, but a kind of stupor claimed her. Now she was adrift in a dark, dream-like sea, with only her pain for company: and because it was all she had, she clung to it with a passion, making a consolation of anguish.

“Leocadia?” The voice was soft, so distant from her thoughts that she paid no attention until Jose Bruno declared, “Wake up. We haven’t much time.” He tapped on the door. “Leocadia.”

She sat up, all her attention on the door. “Jose Bruno?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “Hurry.”

For a moment she was frozen with indecision. What if this was a trap and she was being tested? Might not her punishment be more severe than any she had known? But the very thought of release was too tantalizing for her to resist. “I’m coming,” she whispered, and crawled to the door, no longer caring that her ribs ached and her jaw was bruised. She gathered her grimy skirts so she could get to her feet without difficulty.

The key grated in the lock as the wards opened. The hinges moaned softly, and a faint sliver of light shone in. “Hurry. I want to lock this and put the key back.”

“But how will we get out?” Leocadia asked, remembering that the household doors were locked, making her escape only an arrival in a larger prison. Still, she squeezed out the door and stepped into the crate-and-casque-filled basement and at once was nearly overcome by terror at being out of her cell.

“There is a passage. It’s part of the old foundations,” said Jose Bruno. He held a candle in one hand and a heavy packet in the other and he was smiling. “I stumbled upon it months ago. It leads out past the old columns.”

“A passage?” she repeated, making an effort not to raise her voice.

“It is a bit overgrown, but you can get through it,” he said, so casually that she was astonished all over again.

“But... how did you ...”
She had an instant when she wondered if this were really Jose Bruno. Might he not be some devil come to claim her and lead her off to Hell for her many sins? How could Jose Bruno know of these things? Had she perhaps died and was now going to Judgment?

“The trouble is that I see most things skewed but I can see well enough to manage when I come close to them. Martin does not mind me going about the palazzo so long as I disturb no one.” He chuckled, and it was a sound Leocadia had never heard from him—sarcastic and sad at once.

She stared at him, her eyes watering in the faint candlelight. “What are you saying?”

He shook his head. “There isn’t time. We must go now, while everyone but the night porter is asleep.” With that, he started away toward a stack of wine-barrels lying on their sides and piled almost to the ceiling. “Come with me.”

Leocadia hung back. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can and because Martin does not know I can. When they find you gone, I will claim ignorance and no one will doubt me.” His expression was almost as cynical as the one Ursellos wore, and it unnerved Leocadia to see Jose Bruno look so. “Hurry.”

As if she had been struck, Leocadia nodded in obedience and prepared to follow her half-brother into the darkness that no longer frightened her. “We can hide here,” she muttered as they made their way, crouched under the low ceiling.

“No. Come along,” said Jose Bruno. He kept the candle raised so that they could see their way. Their shadows accompanied them, huge and bobbing, like monsters out of the Vision of San Antonio; chitter- ings and scuttlings in the gloom ahead made the association all the more certain. “You will have to duck down. The roots of trees have grown through.”

Leocadia did as he ordered, feeling that she must be an automaton, moving by clockwork and not by will. Her feet were sore from stepping on pebbles and ancient, broken masonry, and she recalled his promise of shoes. “My slippers are wearing through.” She said it timidly, half expecting Jose Bruno to beat her for complaining, or to return her to her cell as punishment for ingratitude.

“When we reach the other end, you may have shoes,” said Jose Bruno. “It isn’t much farther.”

“But where are they?” To her disgust, tears rolled down her cheeks. To weep for shoes! She chided herself for such a want of purpose.

“In the sack I carry. And your penitent’s gown. No one will notice you in that, and we are in Lent. Penitents are everywhere in Roma.” He kept moving, forcing her to follow him to keep up with the light.

“That is clever,” she said, thinking she had never understood anything about Jose Bruno until this night.

“The north-east gate opens before dawn for the farmers,” Jose Bruno went on. “You can get out of the city there.”