Communion Blood (21 page)

“That’s the one, ragazzi,” the leader called out, pointing to Ragoczy. “Bring him down. Don’t let him get away.”

Ragoczy took a firm hold and drove the mare forward at a bound, pulling her up short in the middle of the gang, setting her on her back legs, her hooves pawing at the air.

The young men had readied themselves to stop his flight, but were unprepared for this. They scattered as Ragoczy lashed out with his crop, laying open the cheek of the nearest who had tried to grab his off-side stirrup. The man screamed obscenities and swung his club wildly, striking Ragoczy’s arm an indirect blow as he howled in fury.

Ragoczy backed his mare up a few steps, then clapped his heels to her sides and sent her hurtling forward.

The bullies ran, all but their leader who threw his club at the mare’s front legs in a vain effort to bring her down. The club missed the horse and rolled harmlessly down the alley, well behind the grey mare and her rider.

Reaching the piazza, Ragoczy again pulled his horse in to a decorous trot, proceeding as if the young louts were no concern of his. A few of the people abroad in the piazza made a point of noticing him, and those who did he greeted with a slight bow from the saddle. His arm ached where the club had bludgeoned him, and he knew it would take a long time for his full use of the limb to return; the fingers in his right hand tingled unpleasantly and his elbow had a gnawing ache that suggested more than a bruise. Nothing in his posture or his demeanor revealed any of this; his seat was as admirable as ever and his features were calm as he rode out of the gates of Roma and continued on toward Villa Vecchia.

By the time he arrived at the Villa Vecchia, he found the workers sitting at a plank table for their mid-day meal which would be followed by an hour-long nap to avoid the heat of the day and to allow their food to settle before they undertook the strenuous labor they had been hired to do.

For once Ragoczy let his head groom take care of his horse. “She is a litde warm. Walk her before you put her away,” he ordered Matyas. “And have a look at her off-side hock.”

“Is she having trouble?” Matyas asked, patting the mare’s shoulder before he began to unfasten the girths.

“I think she is a little stiff. She may have pulled a muscle.” A frown flicked between his brows and he studied the mare intently for an instant, then he thanked Matyas and turned on his heel, bound for the side entrance to the villa. The sound of Maurizio practicing his violin accompanied him, and he wondered vaguely why he should be playing his exercises outside. Then he entered the villa and called for Rugerius as he hastened along to his library.

One of the understewards was busy in the room, sorting out a stack of music manuscripts; he looked up as Ragoczy came in, and ducked his head out of respect for the foreigner who paid him so well. He saw that Ragoczy was surprised by his presence, and quickly put his work aside. “Shall I leave?”

“For the time being, if you please. If you have not had your pran- dio, now would be an excellent time, If you have already eaten, take your afternoon rest now,” said Ragoczy, not wanting to send the servant away too abruptly.

“I am hungry, Signore,” said the understeward, and bowed himself out of his master’s presence just as Rugerius came into the library.

Rugerius watched him go. “What was he looking at?” he asked without preamble.

“Silvano? Music scores, or so it seemed,” Ragoczy answered, gesturing to the manuscripts. “Why?”

“He has been very curious about your books; an odd thing in an understeward,” said Rugerius with a note of apprehension in his voice.

“You think he is spying?” Ragoczy did not wait for an answer. “Half the servants here are spying. If I permit that consideration to bother me, I might as well leave now.” He sat down in the old- fashioned high-backed chair near the window where the light came in through the shutters in brilliant bars.

Rugerius realized that something more than his servants was bothering Ragoczy. “What is the trouble, my master?” he asked in the Spanish of his youth.

Ragoczy frowned, and replied in the same language, “I wish I knew.” He allowed himself to rub his arm where the cudgel had hit. “A half-dozen street-toughs were waiting for me outside Giorgianna’s villa when I left.”

“Waiting for you—to what purpose?” Rugerius’ faded-blue eyes grew keen and icy. “They attacked you, is that it?”

“Yes,” said Ragoczy slowly. “They came after me deliberately. I was not simply convenient.” He began to unbutton his justaucorps with his left hand. “Youths of that sort do not haunt the Piazza della Buona Donna habitually.”

“You are hurt,” said Rugerius as he came nearer to Ragoczy.

Ragoczy nodded as he eased his shoulder free of the garment. “Struck just above the elbow. Nothing is broken. The bruise is. Damnably inconvenient.” His abrupt tone implied more than his perfunctory curse revealed.

Much as he wanted to pepper Ragoczy with questions, Rugerius checked himself, asking only, “Does it have anything to do with the damage to the coach?”

“Not that I am aware of,” said Ragoczy, as he unfastened the last button and tugged himself out of the black brocade garment, sitting still for a short while, regaining his composure. “And since Giorgianna was with me when the spring was cut, I must ask myself if I am the target, or Giorgianna is.”

“But why should she be?” Rugerius pursued as he came to take the justaucorps from Ragoczy

“I haven’t the least notion,’’ said Ragoczy. “She has no rivals I am aware of; it is possible that she may have someone jealous of her who is trying to do her an injury. Barring that, I can think of no reason why she should be the object of malice. But then, why should I be, either.”

“There is the matter of yon defending Aulirios,” Rugerius pointed out.

“There is. And my opponents would be foolish to try to harm me. That would only serve to alert me to their designs. If they intend to warn me away from the case, I would expect them to be more specific in their threats. These incidents—if they are connected—are much too obtuse in their intention.”

“Unless they simply want to be rid of you,” Rugerius observed.

“If that is their design, they will find it harder to accomplish than they expect.” He unfastened his camisa and slid it off, inspecting the place where the club had battered him. “No, nothing broken, thank all the forgotten gods. But this will not heal quickly; bruises on the bones are hard enough on the living. For those of my blood—” He began to fasten his camisa once again. “I will put hot compresses on it tonight, when the household is abed.”

“Not now?” Rugerius made no attempt to conceal his concern. Ragoczy shook his head. “I do not want anyone in this household reporting to anyone outside the villa that I have been injured. It might encourage others to try something similar, or worse.” He went on in Italian, “How fortunate it was only a glancing blow. I might have been hurt had the rogue succeeded in his action.”

Rugerius took his tone and language from Ragoczy. “Truly. It is a shameful thing that such criminals should walk the streets of Roma so boldly.”

“Yes,” said Ragoczy. “If you will bring me my dressing gown, old friend—the dark-red Transylvanian one with the satin-lined sleeves?—I will spend the afternoon reading more of the cases for which we have records. I want to be prepared when the Magistrate finally agrees to hear Signor’ Aulirios’ vindication.”

“Very good,” said Rugerius, preparing to go to fetch the dressing gown.

“Oh. One other thing: why is Maurizio serenading the coachhouse?” He asked this lightly enough, but with an underlying purpose that required an answer.

“Not the coach-house, my master, the little casetta beyond it, where the warder used to live.” He paused. “Our penitent guest has taken up residence in that place, and Maurizio has taken it upon himself to ease her hours of meditation.” As Leocadia had not vouchsafed her identity to Ragoczy, she wets called
our penitent guest
to ensure the anonymity she so clearly desired.

Ragoczy was startled to hear this. “When did this begin?”

“A few days since,” Rugerius said. “They met by accident when our penitent guest came into the garden to pick herbs. Maurizio was taking an hour for himself, and had strolled about the grounds. I saw no harm in that. I was unaware of the meeting until Maurizio asked me about her when he came back in to resume practicing.”

“Um,” said Ragoczy, reserving his opinion for the time being. “At least he is playing, which is all to the good.” He rubbed his arm again. “My bowing isn’t going to be worth much for some months, I fear.

I don’t know how well I can tutor him in this condition.”

“Do you have to play to teach him?” Rugerius asked. “You have often avoided having to play while you taught.”

“True enough; but not for such a talented student as Maurizio Reietto is. His gifts demand more attention than many others have, including that musician from Aragon Csimenae found so . ..” Ragoczy shook his head. “I don’t know how much good I can do him now.” “Will you send Maurizio away?” Rugerius kept his voice level, without a trace of opinion in it.

“Probably not, at least not in the next several days. He would assume he was being punished for playing for our penitent guest, which would benefit no one. And I can see that he practices, which is what Scarlatti is most concerned about.” Ragoczy gave a short sigh. “Still. This could be inconvenient.”

“That is one view of it, certainly,” said Rugerius.

“If only she would tell us who she is, we might handle all this more ... diplomatically. Until she does, we can do nothing more than house her.” He fell ruminatively silent for a short while, then said, “Has anyone inquired about her—other than Maurizio?”

“Not that I know of,” said Rugerius carefully. “She keeps to herself, and her conduct would do a cloistered nun credit. With penitents of all sorts flocking to Roma, this one is not remarkable, or so I have heard. I have told the staff that you are providing for her out of Christian charity and your duty as a nobleman.”

Ragoczy breathed a single, soft laugh. “And they accept it?” He did not expect an answer. “Well, nothing we do can change her situation just now. Perhaps this evening we might try to come up with a solution to this perplexing state of affairs.”

“As you wish, my master,” said Rugerius, again preparing to leave the room.

“Rugerius, you are a prince among men,” said Ragoczy with a quick, wry smile.

“Certainly,” said Rugerius as he at last closed the door.

Text of a letter from Delfinio Crecione to Martin, Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte, delivered by messenger instructed to wait for a response.

To Su Eminenza, Martin, Cardinal Calaveria y Vacamonte, the most respectful greeting of Definio Credone, landlord of the Sordo Buf- fone, with the sincerest apologies for this intrusion, but which, lamentably, cannot be helped.

All appeals to your brother have gone unanswered, and for that reason alone I am addressing this to you for your review as well as the prayer that you will provide the recompense that your brother has admitted is due to me, but which he has not yet discharged in any form that could he regarded as acceptable to me or those others who were involved in the incident I will now outline to Su Eminenza.

On the 14th day of last February your brother Ursellos arrived at my inn in the company of four young men. They stated they had been gambling and wished to celebrate their winnings by drinking their good fortune. To that end, they were admitted to the larger private parlor I maintain for visitors of quality. Two waiters were assigned the task of providing their wants, all of which was unremarkable.

After an hour or so, the young men grew rowdy, as young men will when they are drinking to celebrate a great occasion. This was not unexpected, and the waiters knew how to deal with youthful ca- rousers. On my suggestion, a half a spit-roasted piglet and new bread was carried in to provide them with more than wine to lighten their hearts. This was received well, and the young men ordered roasted onions and baked pears as well, which was duly carried to their parlor.

Some time after midnight, a carriage arrived bearing Barone Lar- ice and his niece. They had paid for rooms for the night and had been delayed due to inclement weather—as Su Eminenza will recall, it rained that week and the roads were unusually muddy—and so
I
did not come until several hours after they were expected. The Barone was tired and a bit ill from his long travels, and his niece was quite exhausted, so when they arrived at my inn, they sought their private parlor without ado. The carriage bringing their baggage was delayed due to a broken wheel, and so neither Barone and niece had servants beyond two footmen; this led to what must have been confusion on the part of the young men, for when they discovered that these worthy people had reached their smaller parlor, just behind the larger one

where the young men were, your brother decided he had discovered an assignation, and took it upon himself to investigate. Had there been more of the Barone’s staff, your brother might not have been so foolish. As it was, his impetuosity and his misapprehension of the situation served to bring about this dreadful situation.

The Barone and his niece had ordered a small supper and hot wine to ameliorate the exigencies of travel, and had disposed themselves for their repast. Being weary, they did not require their servants to remain with them, but dismissed them to permit them to dine even while they—the Barone and his niece
—
did. Thus it happened that the Barone and his niece were unattended when your brother took it upon himself to break into the parlor to apprehend them in what he supposed would be the excesses of sin, or so he claimed. Whatever his intentions, he was the man who sinned in this encounter, and so grievously that some redress is required to make amends for the extent of the insult he has visited upon the Barone and his niece, to say nothing of the damage he has done to my inn, both in actual damage done to the property as well as the harm he has inflicted upon the reputation I have worked so long to maintain.