Communion Blood (53 page)

Text of a letter from the Captain of the
Sorella Agnesca
to Ferenc Ragoczy, Conte da San-Germain.

To the most distinguished Conte da San-Germain, patron of my voyages and owner of my ship, the greetings of Benedetto Pace, Captain.

Eccellenza, I have received your letter of last week, which came swiftly on your ship,
Canzone di Sorrento,
and I will do all within my power to comply with your orders: one of my longboats will wait for a fishing boat at midnight just off the coast at Lago di Folgiano, on the Saturday two weeks hence. We are to signal with two lanthoms in the bow of our boat, and will see three lanthoms on the fishing boat. The Captain of the fishing boat will present your eclipse device as token of his purpose. Our departure from those waters is to pass the Isola di Ponza, where Papal ships do not patrol, and the Sicilian ships avoid. We are to take aboard two men and a woman and carry them as unknowns to England. We are not to call at Anzio or Genova, but go directly to France and then on to England.

Your payment for this service is in my hands, and it is generous, as always. I am proud to perform this deed for you, and I swear no sailor on this ship will speak of it until we are in Protestant ports. Those of us who adhere to the teachings of Peter Waldo are always willing to do what we may to help those oppressed by the Pope and the Church, and have done so for centuries.

No one who has seen the prisons of the Holy Office can want to see anyone, no matter how heinous a criminal he might be, given into the care of those who maim and torture in the name of God. We will protect these unfortunates to the limits of our strength.

May we have fair winds and good seas to carry us to England.

Your most obedient, Benedetto Pace Captain,
Sorella Agnesca

At Malta, by my own hand on the 20th of May, 1690

Putting his hand to his aching head, Ursellos glared at Ahrent Roth- ofen. “This had better be good news.” He was in his dressing-gown and wigless, having been wakened at Rothofen’s insistence less than twenty minutes earlier; his eyes were gummy and his mouth tasted of mold. He distantly remembered arriving home shortly before dawn, two plump prostitutes for his escort; they had been paid by his servants and sent away.

“It is nearly noon,” said Rothofen urgently. “You must bestir yourself, man.” He was dressed for riding. “I have only just learned of how they are planning to—Listen to me, you ungrateful sot!” he expostulated. “I know where your sister is, and your half-brother. But if we do not hurry, they will beyond your reach.” He pounded on the dressing-table in a complete lapse in manners.

Ursellos glowered. “What are you talking about?” Had his head not been hurting so much that he felt rats were gnawing the insides of his skull, he would have demanded satisfaction of Rothofen, though he was in no condition to fight a duel.

“I have been tiying to find your sister. You remember we agreed I would look for her? You
do
recollect that conversation, don’t you?” There was so much sarcasm in his voice that Ursellos bridled at it.

“You forget yourself, Rothofen.” He made himself sit up straight. “I recall you said you would undertake to search for her, and I did not forbid it.” The memory was vague just now, but he was aware that he had made some agreement with Rothofen. “I gather you have had some success.”

Rothofen made a leg. “I meant nothing to your discredit.” Then he took a more determined tone. “But I did tell you I could find your sister, and you said you would pay me twenty gold Angels if I did.” He hated to have to remind Ursellos of the payment, but he was so lacking in money that he felt he had no choice in the matter.

“You say you know where she is? Is that why you ordered me from my bed?” Ursellos was dubious, and therefore resentful. He signaled to his manservant. “Bring me chocolate and a biscuit, will you? and quickly!”

The interruption annoyed Rothofen, but he concealed his emotion. “I do not like to think that she may escape for lack of action.”

“And is there any chance of that?” All Ursellos wanted to do was to lie in bed for another hour or so, drinking chocolate and letting his head improve. This call to action did not please him. “Or is this only a tale?”

“She will be gone by tomorrow night, and that is no tale. I found out from a gardener at Ettore Colonna’s estate that Colonna has extended the use of his hunting-box outside Sezze to your sister and her companions. You may be sure it is tme. Your sister has hidden there, the gardener swears to it: I paid him well for this information, and he rewarded my largesse with news that your sister is to go aboard ship tomorrow night, bound out of the Papal States.” He spoke with heavy emphasis, weighting each word with all the force he could summon up. “If we do not act now, she will be gone.”

Ursellos toyed with the sash of his dressing gown. “You believed a gardener? You say you paid him well. No doubt he is attempting to get more from you by this report.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, but it offered little relief.

“He knows that I will beat him if he lies to me,” Rothofen blustered. “I warned him that I would not tolerate being lied to.”

“How very brave of you,” said Ursellos with indifference worthy of a cat.

“I know he is honest,” Rothofen protested. “He said that the ship they are to meet is owned by Ragoczy.” He saw Ursellos’ head come up. “I thought that might put another complexion on the matter.” Doing his best not to gloat, he went on. “It would seem that Ragoczy has been party to this from the first. He may have been the one to ask Colonna to make the hunting-box available—I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Nor I,” Ursellos said sulkily. “Very well; go on.”

Stirrings of pride made Rothofen sound boastful as he continued. “I have made inquiries: the hunting-box is to the south of the village of Sezze, about two leagues. There are two caretakers to act as guards, but nothing more formidable than that. Colonna made the place available to them because of Maurizio, the violinist. He is with your sister.”

Ursellos cursed in Spanish and flung his patch-box across the room. “What a whore she is!” His headache was fueling his rage, making him ready to fight about anything. “And that upstart
musician!
To make himself her companion!”

Rothofen was secretly delighted to see that Ursellos was no longer disinterested in his information, but he managed not to smile: no saying what Ursellos would make of that. “He is impertinent, but so is Colonna, and Ragoczy.”

“But at least they are men of position, and consequence. The musician is only that, hardly more than a craftsman or merchant.” He snorted in disgust. “Whatever made my sister turn to such a creature as that?”

“Women are fickle, feckless creatures, ruled by whims,” said Rothofen.

“Um.” Ursellos saw his servant bringing him his chocolate. “Very good. Put it down and make ready to dress me for riding. It seems I will have to be on the road today, and possibly tomorrow. Put clothes and other necessities in my saddle-pack. Get to it, man!” This last was sharply condemning; he touched the cup containing the chocolate and had an instant of heat on his fingers. He would have scolded his servant but the man was already following his orders and preparing his clothes for overnight on the road. “And when that is done, tell the stable to saddle my roan—she has the most staying power.” He glanced at Rothofen. “I suppose I should supply you a horse, too.”

“If you want my company,” said Rothofen, his face growing ruddy from acute embarrassment. “I came on a horse from a livery stable, and it has no bottom.”

“I’ll need a brace of pistols, and my sword, as well,” Ursellos called out to his servant. “I may have to fight.” The prospect was not unpleasant. “And the blood-bay for Rothofen. Do you have your own saddle, or is that rented, too?” As Rothofen turned a deep-plum color and muttered that he had his own saddle, thank you, Ursellos added,

“Put his saddle on the bay, and anything buckled or strapped to it.” The servant interrupted his packing to bow in obedience, then went on selecting clothes and readying them to go into the leather saddle-pack he had taken from the chest by the door.

“We will need to remount on the road,” Rothofen reminded him. “My brother had arrangements all over the Papal States. We will have no trouble in changing horses as we go at any of the posting inns.” He drank his chocolate; it was too hot but for once this did not annoy him. He pushed himself to his feet, making an effort to shut out the pain that roared around his skull. “If I find that that trollop has done anything more to disgrace the family, I may help her to go, if only to save us from more shame. She has done more than enough already. If she had only cried out when our brother was attacked—” He stopped, turning to Rothofen abruptly. “You are to keep all of this to yourself, or you will answer for your folly.”

“Do you think I am so foolish?” Rothofen demanded with all the heat such an insult demanded.

“Not foolish: venal,” Ursellos said, untying the sash around his waist and letting the dressing gown drop to the floor; his night-rail was askew but he paid no attention to it. “You would bargain your mother’s soul if you thought it would add to your position, or line your pockets. Do not pretend otherwise.”

“If you have so poor an opinion of me, I wonder that you bother to employ me,” said Rothofen, his attitude a huffy one.

“So do I, Ahrent; necessity makes for odd company,” said Ursellos, wholly unaware that he had increased the insult he had given. “If you will wait downstairs, I will order the cook to prepare food for us to eat on the road; he will give it to you and you may carry it on your saddle.” It was a gesture that turned Rothofen to his servant.

Not trusting himself to speak, Rothofen made a leg and stormed out of Ursellos’ room, almost tripping on the stairs, he was so distracted by his fury. It had not abated when, a short while later, a lackey brought him a wicker box of provisions. Rothofen excused the lackey with a curt oath, and then weighed the basket, trying to think how best to attach it to his saddle. It was galling to have to be grateful for the loan of a horse; the thought of the injustice of his position made his stomach chum and his body tighten as if for a fight. To keep from becoming locked in a cycle of resentment, he considered the basket again, and how he was to carry it on the road. He had just made up his mind how to attach it to the cantel above his cloak when Ursellos appeared, fully dressed for riding, his wig perfectly in place, his face pale and his lips rouged, the raffles at his wrist freshly laundered, his boots shining. Rothofen made a leg and said, “I have the food.”

Ursellos shrugged. “And wine, I hope. I won’t do this work while thirsty.” He pointed to Rothofen’s dusty justaucorps. “Is that all you have?”

Choosing to misunderstand the question, Rothofen said, “My cloak is buckled to my saddle.”

“Is it?” With a chuckle Ursellos began to pull on his leather gauntlets. “It will do for where we are bound, I suppose.”

Rothofen took umbrage at this deliberate slight. “You may say what you want, Signore: I will not attract notice on the road, you will be remembered.”

Ursellos glowered at Rothofen. “Do you expect me to admire your discretion?” He clapped his gloved hands, and although the sound was muffled, it brought an immediate response. “A stirrup-cup for both of us as we depart. I should be back tomorrow or the night after. If anyone inquires about me, tell them I am gone to visit friends. I will want to know the names of all who ask.”

The servant bowed and withdrew.

“Do you think you will have so many callers?” Rothofen knew he sounded snide and did not care.

With a reproachful glance, Ursellos said, “I think that Ragoczy may come, or Colonna.” He made an obscene gesture. “Once they learn their plans have miscarried.”

Rothofen swore. “Perdition to both of them.”

“Amen,” said Ursellos, crossing himself and starting along the gallery to the stairs. “Well? Are you coming? Your saddle—with your cloak—will be on one of my horses. You can take care of that.” He pointed to the basket. “I don’t want you trying to impress me. Do what I tell you and all will go well.”

“That I will,” said Rothofen, offended but determined not to let Ursellos embarrass him again. “She is your sister,” he added, enjoying the wince he saw Ursellos make.

“And therefore my responsibility,” he reminded Rothofen. “Now, where did you say we are bound?” He started down the marble stairs, his boots slapping smartly on the stone.

“A hunting-box near Sezze, one owned by Ettore Colonna.” Rothofen was right behind Ursellos, pleased that the Spaniard was acting on his advice, no matter how churlishly he did it. In future, Ursellos might be willing to pay for more help, and Rothofen had a plan in mind as to the reward he would ask. They reached the loggia at the foot of the stairs, and found two grooms holding horses for them. Without delay, Rothofen went and pulled the straps holding his cloak tight and slipped them through the handles of the basket, securing the buckle to keep it pressed against the cantel. Then he vaulted into the saddle and took up the reins. He felt a stab of envy that Ursellos, debauched wastrel that he was, should have such covetable animals, when he could only afford to rent what the livery stable provided. Hating to admit his straitened circumstances, he said to the groom holding the bay, “Take the horse I rode back to the stable across from San Zaccharia in Porto; the owner is Milanese—you will know him by his accent.” Reluctantly he handed over two silver Caesars, hating to give up even so small a sum as that. “Keep one for yourself.” The other would have to be handed over with the horse.

The grooms stepped back, and a lackey went first to Ursellos, holding up a tray with two pewter mugs on it. Ursellos took one, drank down the contents, and slammed the mug back on the tray; the lackey then went to Rothofen, who did his best to consume the hot brandy- sheriy-and-cream as quickly as Ursellos had. When he was done, he handed the mug to the lackey. He knew he ought to give the fellow at least a silver Duca for the service, but he had none to spare, so offered the disgusted lackey a salute instead as he legged the blood- bay around to follow after Ursellos through the bustle of the Roman streets.