Scarlet From Gold (Book 3) (38 page)

“Of course you’ll have our troops,” the Doge said.  “And you’re going to Nappanee next?  Would you like to have my emissary travel to the court with you, to introduce you to the Grand Prince?  He’s my wife’s cousin by marriage.”

And so the following day, Marco left the Lion City, leaving atop a horse instead of by sea or walking, accompanied by the Count Colonna, the Doge’s representative from his court, and two servants of the Count.  The Count was an older man, one who immediately radiated a sense of seriousness; Marco realized he was the perfect choice to give credibility to Marco’s planned visit and request in the foreign court.

Count Colonna was a heavyset man with a goatee that gave him a perpetually amused look, making every expression of his face appear as though a smile were about to burst through.  He was amused by the idea of a boy of Marco’s age serving as an ambassador, and he quizzed Marco as they began their ride through the countryside.

“So you are an ambassador for a cult that you do not belong to?  Is that correct?” Colonna asked when they were only a little ways out of town.

“Well, that’s technically true,” Marco began, wondering how to best answer the question.  “But I’m really more of the person who’s doing the job for Lady Iasco.”

“Lady Laris claims that she received a note from Iasco, confirming that she has come back to life.  Does that happen often?” Colonna inquired.

“No, not at all,” Marco began to answer, then saw a real smile on the Count’s face.

The Count gently coaxed Marco into telling his story, bit by bit over the course of their four days ride down to Reme, the great city that was the home of the Holy Father, the head of all the churches and cults and temples that had existed in Clovis’s old empire.  They arrived in Reme in mid-afternoon, and Colonna insisted that they stay in a luxurious hotel in the center of the city.  “It’s the only place I stay when in Reme,” he declared.

“So you’ve visited the great cathedral at Compostela?” he asked Marco after they checked in.  “Then you’ll certainly want to take a tour of Saint Peter’s Basilica,” Colonna urged Marco.  “We can go take a quick look around the building before dinner,” he proposed.

They rode their horses to the entrance of the basilica grounds, for the corpulent Colonna preferred not to walk.  Inside the colonnaded entrance to the grounds, Colonna led Marco to a non-descript doorway in an auxiliary building, and asked for Brother Gaspar.

“My Lord!” the friar exclaimed when he arrived a few minutes later.  “What brings you to visit us?”

“My young friend has been to the cathedral at Compostela, and raves about its beauty,” Colonna embellished.  “I thought he should have a quick tour of the basilica in order to see its loveliness as well.”

“Of course, of course,” Gaspar enthusiastically answered.  “Compostela is fine enough of course, but the basilica here?  We are second to none – our beauty glorifies God in heaven, as you’ll see.  Come along and we’ll start our tour immediately, for there’s so much to see we don’t have time to dally.  We won’t see it all of course, but you’ll have a notion of how extraordinary the basilica is,” the friar babbled continuously as he held the door open.

Together, the small group entered and began to walk within the marble walls of the basilica.  It was a glorious building, much brighter than the interior of the cathedral at Compostela, with marble and whitewashing causing sunbeams to reflect repeatedly, whether they were white or tinted from passage through stained glass.  The interior had few of the side chapels and niches that Compostela had as well, but it had long, straight lines of sight that allowed large multitudes to observe the pulpit.

Gaspar led them through the nave to the choir that was east of it, where statuary and carved wooden stalls created a different set of surroundings.  “There are some beautiful paintings up in the bell tower,” the guide said.

“I’m not going to climb up there, but if Marco’s young legs wish to go see your paintings, I’ll be happy to wait down here and listen to the music,” Colonna offered as he saw a group of young boys in robes begin to file into the choir seating area.  Marco gave a quick nod of agreement, and Gaspar gladly led him up the staircase that was built inside the limestone structure of the tower.

The stairs were narrow and winding, but Gaspar led Marco without pause, and they reached an upper level balcony within five minutes.  The balcony ran around the perimeter of the bell tower’s interior, and provided views to the choir and the nave below, as the sounds of the practicing singers rose up to them.  All around the balcony on the exterior walls there were paintings of angels and pastoral scenes, beautifully painted on large wall panels, with many characters painted life-sized or greater.

“The artist tells us that this is exactly how heaven looks,” Gaspar told Marco as he stood and examined the murals.  “He had a dream with these visions.

“Down in the catacombs there are paintings of hell as well.  Would you like to see those?” Gaspar asked, eager to show off more of the basilica.

Marco followed Gaspar as he plunged down the stairs back to where Colonna sat.  “We’re going down into the catacombs now,” he told the nobleman.

“I’ll go back to the hotel then, if you’ll send Marco to join me when you’re done giving him your tour,” Colonna said as he rose to his feet.

Gaspar happily led Marco back into the nave, then off to the side, where a set of stone stairs unobtrusively descended down into a dim netherworld beneath the cathedral.  Gaspar picked up a lantern, one of several that sat on a shelf.  “These burn a special oil, one that emits no smoke, so the paintings remain clean,” the friar explained as he lit one lantern for himself, then lit a second one and handed it to Marco.

The catacombs were a forest of massive stone pillars; Gaspar wove a path among them, then climbed down a second set of stairs that led to a series of chambers set between rows of thick walls that supported the pillars above.

“Here are the paintings of hell,” Gaspar claimed.

Marco held his lantern high, and began walking around among the murals with interest.  There were three general themes, he noted.  Many paintings focused on hell itself, with devils and demons and flames and tortured souls; Marco walked past those he saw with little interest.

Other paintings depicted the entrances to the underworld, and Marco lingered before three in particular, paintings that all had accurate portrayals of Charon and his boat, as well as the cavern entrance just below the surface at Station Island.  There was one painting of Persephone’s Gate as well, with an exceedingly realistic portrait of Thanatos, standing guard – Marco almost imagined that he could see the wings of the guardian slowly beating.

“You have a good eye for art,” Gaspar said, coming to stand next to Marco and holding his lantern up to help illuminate the painting.  “These three paintings were all works of a single artist.”

“He knew what he was doing,” Marco said softly.  “Who was he?”

“To this day, we do not know.  He came and started painting without anyone’s knowledge or permission many years ago, and once the authorities found him, they decided his work was worth keeping,” Gaspar said.

Marco continued on to where one of the paintings from the third theme portrayed the life of the souls in the underworld.  There were buildings and streets and seeming organization, nothing like what Marco’s visits to the underworld had revealed, but he kept his criticism bottled up.  They turned a corner to start to return to their stairwell back up, and came upon a painting that again depicted hell.  There were many souls suffering torment, but central to the large painting was a demon that had a very human face, a face whose expression was one of cruelty beyond imagination.

Marco stopped in front of the painting, then stepped back to get a better perspective on it.  The face of the demon seemed uncomfortably familiar.

“He’s the sorcerer!” Marco said suddenly, recognizing the face.

“What’s that?” Gaspar asked.  “I never like to look at this painting long; it’s the most frightening one down here, I think.”

“That demon – his face is the face of a sorcerer who is in Athens, helping with the occupation of the city,” Marco tried to explain his comment.

“This painting is a hundred years old,” Gaspar protested.

“Maybe so,” Marco said, worried.  “But that is the face of Iamblichus.”

At the mention of the sorcerer’s name the light from both their lanterns sputtered, then went out, leaving Gaspar and Marco in profound darkness.  There was the sound of a man’s laugh very nearby.  Without hesitation, Marco pulled his sword free, and lifted his hand to cast light upon their predicament.

The demon had moved within the picture during the darkness.  He still looked out at them, but now his hands were stretched in front of him, as though he were reaching towards them. 

“Oh my God!” Gaspar cried.

“Stay!” Marco shouted.  “By all that is holy I beseech the strength of the saints in this basilica to hold you within the frame of that painting!”

He felt a gust of frigid wind blow outward from the painting, a blast so strong that it knocked Marco and Gaspar off their feet.  Marco jumped up with his sword ready to stab and slash the canvas, but when he rose he saw that the demon had returned to its original pose in the painting.

“Heaven help us!” Gaspar cried.

“I think it just did,” Marco replied.

“Your hand!  How does it glow?” Gaspar suddenly realized the additional impossibility that was present in the ancient space beneath the basilica, and he started fearfully running in the direction of the stairs, only to realize that as he separated himself from Marco he lost the benefit of the light of Marco’s hand.

Marco remained in front of the painting, studying it for another moment to make sure the demon didn’t start to move again, then he left the painting behind and began to follow the direction Gaspar had gone, just as anxious as the friar to leave the painting behind.

“Are you going to kill me?” Gaspar asked in despair as Marco caught up with him, his hand providing the only illumination available.

“Not unless you try to kill me first,” Marco tried to use gentle humor.  Rattled as he was by the occurrence at the painting, he realized that for Gaspar it was an even more frightening event.  “Let’s get back up above ground.  Lead the way.”

The friar happily obliged, and when they returned to the main floor of the basilica, lanterns were being lit as the sun set outside.

“I’d prefer to have nice bright sunshine.  That was horrible!  I didn’t just imagine it, did I?” Gaspar asked as they stood in the nave, breathing heavily from their hurried climb.

“No, that was not imagination,” Marco said grimly.  “We’re lucky we were in such a holy place and had so much power to call upon.”

“How did you know that demon?” Gaspar asked.

“He is a sorcerer; one who fights for the Docleatae army that has conquered Athens,” Marco answered.  “Count Colonna and I are on our way to Nappanee to ask Grand Prince Neapole to add his armies to the battle to set Athens free,” Marco said as he extinguished the light from his hand at last.

“Shall I lead you back to see the Count?” Gaspar asked, and he proceeded to lead Marco back out into the city to return to the luxurious hotel, where Gaspar said goodnight, and Marco found Colonna already in the dining room, eating a plate of oysters as he waited for Marco to arrive.

Marco proceeded to tell Colonna about the event that had happened at the painting.  At first the Count looked amused, as he presumed a joke was coming, but at the end of the story, he looked more grave and serious than Marco had yet seen.

“Perhaps we should spend a day here in Reme to tell the church authorities what is happening,” Colonna suggested.  “Gaspar may tell some folks as well; he’s my nephew – my sister’s son – and he’ll have some folks interested in what you saw and what you have to tell them.”

Marco slept uneasily that night, even though he slept on a soft mattress in the luxurious suite Colonna had rented.  In the morning he was awoken as soon as the sun rose, when a soft knocking on the door led to one of Colonna’s sleepy-eyed servants delivering a note that requested Marco come back to the basilica for a visit with Cardinal Statbir.

“Who is he?” Marco asked Colonna when the Count arose earlier than usual, aroused by the report of a note already delivered.

“I don’t know him, so let’s just go find out, shall we?” Colonna proposed.  “After breakfast, of course,” he added.

An hour later they rode back to the basilica, and a priest led them through ornate offices to wait in a grandiose antechamber for the chance to meet the Cardinal.  The man who walked out introduced himself as Cardinal Statbir.  He was shorter than Colonna, but just as corpulent, with smooth, fresh-looking skin that made him seem nearly as young as Marco, though his eyes looked much older.

“There was a disturbing report of an occurrence in the basilica last night,” the cardinal said after polite introductions.  “And you are alleged to know quite a bit about what happened.  I’d like to hear you retell the story if you don’t mind.  Come in and have a seat and let me hear your tale.”

They walked into a opulent room, where they sat down in comfortable, padded chairs drawn up around an elegant table, one with a marble top that had other polished stones inlaid in intricate fashions.  It was the most elaborate piece of furniture Marco had ever seen.

He began his story about the visit to the gallery in the catacombs, and proceeded to tell it with only a few questions from the Cardinal, until he finished the story.  At that point the Cardinal began probing, asking questions in great detail.

“You seemed very sure of the demon in the picture; could you explain how you knew that?” he asked.

“Two months ago I was in Athens, and I had to run away from that sorcerer,” Marco answered.  “I saw his face very clearly, and I remember it; he was very powerful.”

“But you got away?  How?” Statbir asked.

He was going to have to tell more of his story than he expected, Marco realized.

“It wasn’t easy,” he said slowly.  “I had to travel through the underworld.”