From Hell with Love (28 page)

And as he ran, Niccolo almost wished his friend did not grieve for him.

***

His mind flitted about through thoughts of violence and revenge and all kinds of emotions Niccolo could not entirely understand.  Marco’s sad face was enough to destroy his grudge against the man.  In fact, now he resented Marco for removing the strong foundation for Niccolo’s misanthropy.  Now there was one soul that did not entirely hate him and reject him, although Marco was far too much of a coward to help. 

The problem was that Niccolo could understand that.  No one knew where his leprosy had come from, and it was entirely possible that just being around Niccolo could allow for his illness to spread to his friend.  He could not blame Marco for removing him from his life.

The leper brought his hands to his face and screamed in anger as his world fell apart again.  He had just gotten used to rock bottom, he had just gotten used to being the scum of the Earth, and then Marco had to go screw it all up.  Niccolo had still been abandoned, but the people who abandoned him were not entirely responsible for his situation.  Luck and chance were just as much a part of it, and that was something that Niccolo could not forgive.

Because, in his short time in exile, Niccolo no longer believed in luck and chance.  Sure, there was the occasional coincidence, but when it came to the biggest issues in his life, he needed something to blame.  He could not blame random happenstance for how he had to kill others to survive; he could not blame the winds for his poor fortune.  To Niccolo, it all led back to that mystical, supreme being, wherever it was.

Niccolo resented God.  He had never fully believed in the deity, but now that the tables were turned and chance was no longer a plaything for the merchant prince, Niccolo needed a scapegoat.  He needed an enemy and person to blame, and if he could not blame his friends and family for abandoning him, he might as well believe in a fabrication.  Niccolo might as well believe in a God of terror, pain and mischief, because the alternative was so much worse.  The alternative, that he had just been randomly afflicted with a disease that ate away his skin and disfigured him, was not something he could justify.

He tore away at the bandages on his head, determined to value the rest of his limited eyesight.  Niccolo was not going to hide behind any more bandages; he was not just going to blend in anymore.  The people deserved to see what God did to him.  There was no sin in Niccolo’s heart before God cursed him and destroyed the man he used to be.  Niccolo would walk through the streets proudly, a blight upon His chosen people.

The leper straightened his back and then walked toward the opening to the broad avenue.  There was a church across the way and, now that he noticed it, Niccolo had to smile, which caused the maimed skin on his left side to bunch up painfully.  The leper grunted, but as he stood at the opening of the side street and considered his vendetta against God, he gave a crooked smile with the right side of his face. 

He turned to the right and walked down the street, proudly showing off the ruined skin of his face and neck to the normal, god-fearing people who passed by him.  The men backed away in horror, the merchants placed their hands on the handles of their knives and hovered over their wares.  When Niccolo looked down at the gaping children and gave them a crooked smile, their mothers would scream and gather them close.  Niccolo enjoyed this new power that he had over the noble citizens of Firenze.  If he could not be one of them, if God so desired to separate him from the rest, then Niccolo would just have to oblige.  He would just have to disgust the world and show them what God had done to him.

However, that cruel, desperate happiness fell away when he heard the lilt of a familiar laugh.  Niccolo’s eyes widened as he saw her, as he saw Camilla walking down the street with a smile on her face.  She had not noticed him yet, but the world disappeared for Niccolo.  The leper had gone by the Gherardini Estate a number of times to catch a glimpse of her, but he would stick to the shadows, bundled up in his rags.  Now that he was in the middle of the street, his rags torn from him in his twisted vanity, Niccolo was exposed.  He looked to his sides and found there were no side streets to retreat into, no escape from the woman he loved, who would finally able to see the horror he had become.  Now, Niccolo only wished for oblivion.

Then he saw the glint of metal around her neck.  At first, Niccolo just assumed it was just another necklace that her father had provided for or, worse, one of the presents her suitors had given in order to steal her heart away.  He held a grudge for those perfect, handsome young men who now had the opportunity to take his former future; Niccolo spent many nights pretending that he was still going to marry her, but eventually those suitors would interrupt with their presence and force him to remember his place.

However, when she came closer, within ten feet or so, Niccolo realized that it was not an ordinary necklace.  The small links were made of silver, just a plain band, but that was not what drew Niccolo’s gaze.  There, just above the line of her cleavage, Niccolo saw the ring he had given her.  Around her neck, she wore a constant reminder of the man she had loved.  With that, Niccolo realized that she might still love him; with that, Niccolo’s heart broke once more.

That was enough to stop him in his tracks and allow Camilla to notice him.

“Nico…” she uttered under her breath, completely unable to stop her reaction.  Her lip quivered and her entire body shook ever so slightly as she took in the sight of her former lover.  The man Camilla used to adore was standing before her in piles of rags, dirt and grime covering every inch of him, and the rot that had taken Niccolo from her had spread to the face she had kissed so many times.  Camilla gasped as she realized that this was what happened to the man she had been about to marry, and Niccolo could not help the tears that poured from his eyes and became dirty before they reached his chin.

“Do you know this scum?” the man on her left asked, which broke the two of them out of their wordless exchange.  Niccolo looked at him and instantly felt rage at his intrusion.  The man was clearly another merchant’s son, or maybe a merchant himself, and had the smug features which normally accompanied that level of fortune.  His black hair was pulled back and soaked with oil or some other substance which kept it from leaving its place on his head, and the fierce, black eyes were narrowed to slits.  His dress was especially offensive, canary yellow garments with accents of blue, which was a garment Niccolo would never have worn even on a dare.  As soon as Niccolo recognized the man's colors, he knew this was no merchant's son.

It was one of the nobles. 

Behind him were a number of other men who were clearly his bodyguards.  None of them seemed like they had a chance to have Camilla’s hand in marriage.  They only looked at Niccolo and regarded him with contempt, but Niccolo was not watching them; he was watching the beautiful woman who wore his ring around her neck.  At the man’s question, Camilla stammered for a bit, trying to wipe away the tears that had sprung forth, but eventually she turned to him.

“I…he…his name is Niccolo Vespucci.  He’s somebody I used to know,” she said, trailing off at the end before looking into Niccolo’s eyes.  Her face was filled with compassion, but she did not want to admit how close they had been.  When she saw the tortured expression which twisted Niccolo’s face, Camilla quickly looked to the side.  The woman could not stand to hurt him, but there was nothing left for them.

“Wait,
this
is that merchant’s son?” Giovanni Simonetti asked in disbelief before turning to look Niccolo over.  His olive skin seemed just a little too tan, a little too clean, which bothered the leper.  The man stepped forward and looked Niccolo up and down before breaking into a wide smile.  “What living on the streets can do to a man.  I see the blight on him, now,” he said before pointing at Niccolo’s face.  The leper glared at him before shaking his head slightly.

“Back off, or see what happens to that finger,” he threatened, violence permeating every syllable.  The well-kept man stumbled back in shock before anger flashed through his eyes and his hand flew to the handle of the blade on his hip.

“What did you say,
beggar?
” he snarled, meeting Niccolo’s violence with some of his own.  Camilla stepped forward then and put her hand on the man’s yellow sleeve.

“Giovanni, stop!  He’s just a proud man!” she urged, but that only drew a look of disdain from the olive-skinned man.

“Proud?  He’s a lowlife.  He doesn’t
get
to be
proud
,” he almost spat in her face, causing Niccolo’s hand to drift to his blade.  Giovanni and the men behind him all noticed the movement and Niccolo could see his bodyguards withdraw clubs from their belts before starting to walk toward him.  Niccolo wondered if he would be able to fight them all alone.

“Anybody can be proud,
Giovanni
, but some people don’t deserve to be,” he said as he gripped the handle of his sword tightly.  “The kind of man who would talk that way to Camilla doesn’t deserve her.  Maybe that’s why she wears another man’s ring around her neck.”  At the statement, the noble's son looked over at Camilla’s neck and scoffed.  He turned back to him and withdrew his blade slowly, letting the metal grind against the leather scabbard in a show of intimidation.

“That little piece of metal?  She won’t be needing it after she marries me.  Tell you what,” he said as he walked forward, not impressed by Niccolo drawing his own blade, “I’ll melt it down into two coins and put them on your eyes so that you can pay the ferryman.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Niccolo said as he grabbed his dagger with his left hand and watched his advancing opponents.  Already he was thinking about how he would need to parry Giovanni’s strike and move past him in order to quickly take out his bodyguards.  “It might be me melting down your sword and-”

He did not get to finish his retort, as a strong blow hit him across the back of his neck.  Niccolo fell down, not unconscious but completely stunned, and rolled over to see another brute standing over him.  While Niccolo lay there it was not difficult for the men to disarm him, as he did not have enough strength to hold onto his weapons.  His vision was blurry, but he could tell the three bodyguards were standing over him along with Giovanni in his canary-yellow garb, laughing at the beggar at their feet.

Then they started to beat the life from him.  They kicked and slammed their fists into him, breaking a few ribs and causing the skin around his eye to tear open and bleed profusely, staining his vision.  Niccolo realized he was going to die there while a self-entitled noble laughed with his bodyguards, but eventually he heard a woman’s voice cry out.

“Stop it!  Stop it!  You’ve already beat him!” Camilla screamed, pushing away the four men from his body before falling on top of him and putting her arms across him for protection.  While the weight forced the breath from him and the fall added to the aches and pains he was experiencing, Niccolo was grateful.  This woman, this woman who could have just let him die in disgrace, decided to save him instead.  And in a whisper, he heard Camilla sob out the words that hurt him more than all of the beatings.

“I’ll marry you.  Just let him go.  Just let him live,” she cried, her face buried in Niccolo’s damaged chest.

“You’ll marry me?” Giovanni asked above them, his oily hand running through his black beard.  “I just have to let him live?”

“Yes,” the words leaked out of her with her tears.  Niccolo could see her looking him in the eye and could tell that she did not want this.  She knew Giovanni to be the cruel man that he was, but she was giving herself to him.  Just so that this rotting lover of hers could live another day.  Niccolo’s heart went out to her, but he would have rather died.

“Fine, get up.  He won’t die today,” Giovanni said as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to her feet, leaving Niccolo alone on the dirt.  Then Giovanni pushed her over to his thuggish bodyguard, who held her shoulders in his massive hands.  “But I can’t just let him get away with this insult.”

“No…no!  Stop it!” Camilla screamed as she saw him untying the front of his trousers and she struggled against her captor.  Giovanni just gave her a wicked smile and continued lazily untying the knots.

“You have nothing left to barter,
my
love
.  Now,” he said before turning to Niccolo, who was still writhing on the floor.  Giovanni struggled for a moment, muttering to himself about the knot being too difficult, but eventually he lowered his trousers and brought out his genitals.  “We’ll give the beggar some gold.”

Niccolo tried to ward off the noble’s urine, but he was practically broken and he could not help himself.  Camilla was screaming in protest at first, but then those screams turned to sobs and then those sobs turned to silent crying.  The leper stopped fighting as the stream continued, and instead looked at the woman who had traded her future for his life.  Niccolo realized then that he still loved her and would never stop and that, from her actions, she was still just as attached to him.

The world just would not let them be together.

The four men left with their laughter, their property and Niccolo’s pride.  What little of it he had kept after his exile had been stolen; the urine soaking his rags had seen to that.  To add to his misery, the thugs had taken his weapons, so now Niccolo was just left with the blight on his left side and the meager offerings in the satchel on his belt.

He picked himself up, the foul liquid dripping from him, and that’s when he noticed the assorted people watching him.  Niccolo looked at all of them in anger; they had just let all of this happen to him.  As they gaped at him, Niccolo realized that he was past resentment.  Now he was filled with anger.

That was when he looked up and saw the cross above the doorway.  He snarled, the skin around his nostrils flaring with anger, and then limped through the open doorway of the house of worship.  The church was abandoned, just like that first church, so Niccolo did not bother to treat the place with reverence.  He ignored the pain in his legs and marched up to the altar before looking at the effigy of Jesus and slamming his fists against the wooden altar.