Love Wild and Fair (60 page)

Two large tears ran down the girl’s cheeks, but she began again. “My lady bid my sister and me hide in the linen chest, but Susan would not. She told my lady it dinna matter what happened to her, since she was nae a virgin. ‘Twas a lie she told, my lord, for Susan is as virgin as I am!” And unable to help herself, May began to cry again.

They let her weep for a few minutes, and then Bothwell said quietly, “Go on, lass. What happened next?”

“They hid me in the chest, and bid me not move until ‘twas absolutely quiet, and I was sure the pirates had gone. Then I was to go to Carlo’s and remain until ye returned. No sooner was the lid down than I heard the bedchamber door being smashed in, and then I heard the pirates entering. They dinna hurt my lady or Susan, but they took them away.”

“Did they say anything you could understand, Susan?” asked Conall.

The girl thought a moment, then her features cleared. “Aye! The captain was very polite to my lady. He said his name was … it sounded like ‘Karoteen.’ He also said he had orders to take my lady to the grand vizier, Cica-something Pasha.”

“Santa Maria!” gasped Carlo. He did not understand the girl’s story, because she spoke in her own language, but he understood the names she spoke.

“Khair-ad-Din, my lord,” he said excitedly. “Kapitan Khair-ad-Din—the namesake, and some say the grandson, of the great Kapitan Pasha of Suleiman the Magnificent! He is in the personal service of Cicalazade Pasha, the grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire.”

“But what would some damned Turk want with my wife?”

Carlo looked uncomfortable. Bearers of bad tidings were never liked. Still, his lord must know. “Cicalazade Pasha is only half-Turkish. His father is the Conte di Cicala, my lord. He is also the older brother of the Contessa de LiCosa.”

“I will personally kill the bitch,” said Bothwell in a deadly voice.

“Not if I reach her first,” said Conall quietly.

Simultaneously they turned, mounted their horses, and rode to the Conte di LiCosa’s home.

As quiet as the grounds at the Villa del Pesce d’Oro had been, those at the Villa del Mare were quieter. At first Bothwell feared it deserted. But when they reached the house a servant ran out to take their horses, and another escorted them to Alfredo di LiCosa.

“I want Angela,” said Bothwell with no preamble.

“You are too late, my friend. The Inquisition has her. She will burn tomorrow in the main market square of Naples.”

“Have you seen her? Can she still talk? Do you know what she did? She has sent my wife into slavery in her brother’s harem! I must talk with her before she dies!”

“So that was it,” sighed Alfredo di LiCosa. “Her servant, Barto, was caught signaling the Turkish pirates. He implicated her, and then accused her of witchcraft, claiming that she held his soul in bondage so he was forced to do her bidding. Naturally the Inquisition heard and came for her immediately. They have been waiting for something like this, for Angela has made no secret of her contempt for the church. It was as if she’d gone mad! She laughed at them, and made no attempt to save herself. I don’t think she really believed it. They didn’t even bother to torture her, they simply condemned her to the stake. And she truly doesn’t care.”

“Where is she being kept, Alfredo?”

“In Naples at the Inquisition prison. I will go with you, Francisco, and we will get Bishop Pasquale too. He can get us the necessary permissions.”

Bothwell nodded. “Tell me, Fredo, is there anything Angela is afraid of? Anything at all? I must have a lever to force her to talk with me.”

“Snakes,” answered the Conte di LiCosa. “Angela is terrified of snakes.”

Bothwell looked to Conall and nodded. “Go back to the gardener, man.”

Conall returned the nod. “Aye! I’ll get them, and I’ll meet you at the cross of San Genaro on the Naples road.”

With his captain-at-arms gone, Bothwell turned again to the conte. “I am sorry, Fredo. I would not add to your pain. I know you love Angela. I want my wife back. If I must move heaven and hell to get her, I will!”

“You’ll never see her again, Francisco. If Angela sent Caterina to Cicalazade Pasha, your wife is gone. If you could even get as far as Istanbul she would already be either dishonored or dead. Face your loss, and accept it as I am accepting mine.”

“Never! Do you think I care if she’s forced by another man as long as I can have her back? Do not tell me that I cannot get her back, for I can, and I will!”

The Conte di LiCosa shook his head sadly, but as he had promised, he accompanied Bothwell on his journey. First they saw Bishop Pasquale who, hearing the story, changed from his clerical robes into his riding clothes and led the way to the Naples road.

Conall was already waiting by the San Genaro cross, a small covered reed basket attached to his saddle. It was close to evening by the time they reached the city. Had the bishop not been with them Bothwell was sure they would never have been admitted to the grim black stone fortress. All the windows were barred, and smoking pitch torches lit the entrance.

Riding authoritatively up to the entrance, the bishop demanded immediate entry and speech with the prison governor. They were quickly admitted. Conall gingerly removed the basket from the pommel horn of his saddle and followed the guard into the prison. They were immediately assaulted by the odor of rotting food, of unwashed bodies, of feces and urine. A low wailing assailed their ears.

“Jesu,” whispered Conall to Bothwell, “we’ve gone to hell!”

The earl shot him a warning look, and they were led up a twisting flight of stairs to the governor’s apartment. There they were greeted by Bishop Guido Massini, the prison governor, who said to Bothwell, “I have heard of you, my lord. There was some discussion in your country regarding witchcraft … and you are a heretic, I believe.”

“No, Guido,” said Bishop Pasquale quietly. “Lord Bothwell, having seen the error of his ways, has returned to Holy Church. He is married to a most virtuous and devout woman. They both attend mass regularly and are extremely generous to both the church and the poor.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” answered the bishop, a deceptively merry-looking little man whose smiling features were belied by his icy black eyes. “What may I do for you, my lord?”

“The prisoner Angela di LiCosa, Guido. We wish to see her. She is responsible for the abduction of Lord Bothwell’s wife by Turkish pirates. Before she dies tomorrow we must learn from her what instructions she gave the pirates.”

Bishop Massini was most irritated. “Is there no end to that woman’s infamy? Yes, of course you may see her. However, even if she will tell you, there is little hope of your getting your wife back from the infidels.”

But the bishop’s face softened with Bothwell’s look. “But I must! I must!” he said.

“I will write the pass for you.”

“For my captain-at-arms also, and we must see her alone.”

The bishop looked first at Bothwell’s distraught face, and then at Conall’s grim one. “What is in the basket?” he asked the captain. Then, raising a fat white hand, he hurriedly said, “No. I really don’t want to know.” Pulling out a prewritten parchment, he scrawled the name of Angela di LiCosa in one place and his own at the bottom. Holding out the parchment to Bothwell, he said, “Come back and have a goblet of wine with me when you have your information.” He turned to the other two men. “Remain here if you do not wish to accompany them.”

Francis looked to Alfredo di LiCosa, who shook his head. “No. I have said my goodbyes. I do not wish to see her ever again.”

Bothwell and Conall followed the guard up a flight of stairs. “She is lodged quite decently, thanks to her husband,” the guard remarked conversationally. “Most of the witches are below with the water rats.”

“We are to see her alone,” replied Bothwell coldly. “You are to remain outside the cell. And no matter what you hear, you will remain there unless my captain or I call you.”

“Makes no difference to me,” came the reply. The guard stopped before a door, found the right key, and opened the door.

They stepped through into the cell and heard the door close behind them. Angela di LiCosa stood, her back to them, gazing out through the barred window. “If you’re another priest, go away,” she said.

She whirled about. “Francisco,
caro!
So there is a God.” But the welcome in her eyes died in Bothwell’s icy gaze.

“I have come,” said the earl coldly, “because I hope that even you will want to clear your conscience before you die. Regarding the matter of my wife, what exactly did you arrange?”

Her black eyes widened, and she burst into hysterical laughter. Outside the closed door the guard shuddered at the sound. Angela wiped the damp from her eyes with a ragged sleeve. “Really, Francisco! You are simply incredible! Yes, I arranged for your wife’s disposal, but she must truly have God on her side, for that idiot servant of mine was caught. So … tomorrow I die. Alas, if I cannot have you then neither can she.” She laughed again, a bit ruefully this time. “You will have neither of us, Francisco, and that isn’t at all what I had planned!”

“Once more, Angela. What exactly did you do with her?”

The woman regarded him with some amusement and shook her head. Francis reached out and, wrapping the soft blue-black hair around his hand, cruelly yanked her to him. “I have no time to waste, Angela. Where is she?”

The black eyes glittered viciously, but she said nothing. Using his other hand, Bothwell ripped the prison smock from the woman’s body and brutally shoved her onto the straw mattress of the cell cot. Before she realized what had happened, her arms and legs were bound to the cot posts in a spread-eagled position.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked. “I will call the guard!”

“He will not answer, Angela. I have the prison governor’s permission to obtain my information in
any
way necessary. Now, what instructions did you give your Turkish friends regarding my wife?”

She regarded him coldly for a second and then, raising her head, spat full in his face. Bothwell nodded to his captain. Conall opened the woven basket Looking into it thoughtfully, he chose a short, plump green snake. He handed it to Bothwell, who wrapped the reptile about his hand and caressed the weaving, darting head. Sliding it off his hand, he placed it on the straw mattress between Angela’s open legs.

The Contessa di LiCosa shrieked wildly. “Francisco! For the love of God! Take it away! Take it away!”

“What exactly did you do with my wife?”

She strained against her bonds, her black eyes dark mirrors of terror, but still she would not answer him. He could see the pounding of her heart in her chest. The snake uncurled itself and began to move slowly towards her. She screamed again, a long wailing moan of animal fear.

“It goes for the warmth and moistness of you, Angela. Soon it will seek the darkness of your womb, where so many have been before it. And when it is safely up inside you wriggling around, I shall take another from the basket and another, and another … until your belly is a nest of snakes. Can you feel them inside you already, Angela? Does it feel good, my dear?” The cruel eyes bore pitilessly down at her. For the briefest moment, amazement at his cruelty overcame her fear. But then the fear returned tenfold, slamming into her so fiercely that for a moment she couldn’t draw a breath.

Finally she was able to gasp, “I sent her to my brother! Take that reptile away! I will tell you all! Only take it away!”

Casually Bothwell lifted the snake from the mattress and dropped it back into its container. “Talk then, you bitch, or I’ll shove the entire basket up you!”

“I sent your precious bride to my brother, Cicalazade Pasha, the sultan’s grand vizier. He is quite a connoisseur of beautiful women, and his prowess is legendary. She is not there yet, Francisco, but she will be soon. Then Cica’s head eunuch will have her bathed and perfumed, and he will lead her to my brother, where she will be stripped naked for his inspection. When he has seen her—for I admit that she is beautiful—he will pleasure himself on her body.”

“You bitch,” snarled Bothwell.

Angela di LiCosa laughed. “You will never see her again! She is lost to you! Soon she will lie beneath my brother, moaning her desire.” She lowered her voice to an intimate level. “They say he is a bull, and he will teach her to please him. You will have nothing but a memory, and the knowledge that another man is fucking her!” Angela’s voice now became silky soft, and caressing. “Think of it, Francisco. Her tawny hair spread upon the pillows, her firm white legs eagerly open to receive her master’s swollen manhood. She will beg for his favors! Living in a harem of a hundred other beauties, she will compete for his attentions as eagerly as any of them!”

The savagery of her words ripped into him, and Bothwell rose from the edge of the cot, his face a mask of pain and anguish. Crossing the cell, he pulled the door open and exited. Slowly Conall moved to stand beside the condemned woman. For a moment he stood staring silently down at her. Angela was frightened, for this man did not regard her nakedness with desire. This one showed no emotion whatsoever. “You are a wicked woman,” he said quietly, “but do not think that you have won. We will bring her safely back to us. I have not watched over her since she was a child to see her end this way.”

Bending, he took his knife and cut through the contessa’s bonds. And before she realized what he was doing, he lifted the basket of green snakes and dumped them in her lap.

As he left the cell he smiled wolfishly, hearing the shrieks behind. “Lock it up again,” he commanded the guard. “It’s not to be opened again until morning.”

Conall More-Leslie was not surprised, the following day, to hear that the Devil had come for the soul of Angela di LiCosa during the night, leaving her body and half a dozen green garden snakes as a memento of his visit. The crowd gathered to see a live Angela executed was disappointed. The body was tied to the waiting stake and burned to ashes, giving the cheering crowd a small satisfaction.

C
ONALL More-Leslie allowed the Earl of Bothwell exactly twenty-four hours to wallow in his grief. Then he dragged Francis to a bathhouse in the Turkish quarter of Naples, where two burly bath attendants scrubbed the drunken man down. Next he was put into a hot steam room until every pore was open and running freely. Then he was sloshed with scented tepid water and allowed to sleep on a marble bath bench in a slightly less volcanic steamroom. Awakened after an hour with a cup of boiling Turkish coffee, he vomited up most of the wine he had imbibed and was then taken into another tepidarium to be shaved and bathed again. Lastly he was dressed in his own fresh, clean clothes, which Conall had brought with them. His old clothes were burned. Finally he was bowed back out into the street, where his captain waited.