Suicide Kings (7 page)

“You’ve come here for guidance?” Francesca asked.

“Of a sort,” Diana replied.

“Give me your hand,” Francesca commanded, her voice gentle but firm.

Diana hesitated a moment, then allowed her hand to pass through the window of the little cell. She felt like she was reaching into murky water in search of a coin without being sure that some hungry beast awaited her fingers down in the darkness.

Francesca took her hand and turned it palm up, then placed her own across it. Francesca’s hand was warm, soft, like a baby’s. Yet she gripped Diana’s fingers in a firm embrace. Francesca closed her eyes and began to chant, “Oh heavenly father, I beseech you to be with us today as we seek out your grace and your guidance…”

Diana looked over at Siobhan, but found the Irishwoman with her head bowed, hands clasped reverently in front of her. Diana felt both isolated and trapped between the two women, but there was little that she could reasonably do but to allow these events to play out.

Francesca continued her intonations and her voice became faster and softer as if she were barely breathing between the words. Diana thought Francesca had changed to speaking Latin and she could no longer closely follow what was being said. Francesca shook and swayed at her own voice, her hand on Diana’s contracting painfully at times, only to release and repeat the cycle. At last she stopped, pulling away from Diana’s hand with a gasp. She looked at Diana with wide eyes, breathing in heavily as if she had just run a race. “You will find what you seek,” Francesca whispered. “But it won’t be what you want.”

Diana took a step back, holding her hand against her chest as if it had been burned.

Francesca blinked several times and put out one hand to steady herself in her cell. She was sweating visibly, lines of fluid running down her angelic face despite the frigid February air. She looked up finally, “Diana,” she whispered.

“Lady Savrano!” called a voice from what seemed a world away. Diana turned to the sound and saw a tall woman in a black robe had emerged from the wooden door and now motioned toward her. Diana looked back at Francesca who watched her quietly with large eyes. “Thank you for the blessing, Francesca,” Diana whispered, averting her eyes. She moved off toward the tall nun without waiting for a reply.

Siobhan fell into step beside her, keeping silent.

Diana had collected herself by the time they reached the tall nun. “I am Lady Savrano,” she told the nun, keeping her back straight. “I would like to ask some questions.”

The nun held up one hand. “I know why you are here. I am Sister Ophelia the cellarer. You’ve come to ask about Sister Maria Innocentia.” The nun turned her back, motioning with one hand that they should follow.

Diana gave Siobhan a wary look. These nuns were more intimidating and mysterious than Mancini. Still, she followed the sister into a dark and cluttered hallway. She wasn’t turning back now.

“Cardinal Lajolo has investigated the matter of Sister Maria Innocentia’s death and declared her demise to be an accidental fall,” Sister Ophelia informed them. Diana almost sputtered a protest but the sister held up her hand once more. “I know what she told you.” They ascended a set of stone stairs, light from a few windows casting away the doom momentarily. “You should know that Sister Maria Innocentia was a deeply disturbed soul. I hope her spirit found some measure of comfort during her time with us, but I cannot be so sure.”

“You think she was mad?” Diana asked.

“I know that she was mad,” Sister Ophelia responded without a moment’s hesitation. “The monk physicians claimed that her madness was a result of an imbalance of her humors and they tried to cure her with bleedings. Sometimes the horrors of this world are enough to drive any person mad, and I have little doubt that Sister Maria Innocentia was well versed in horror.” They stopped outside a little wooden door. Sister Ophelia turned round, facing them with her stern, slightly wrinkled face. Her eyes met Diana’s. “Your mother was good to our community. We should have liked to bury her in our chapel had it been her wish.”

Diana met the woman’s gaze. “Do you believe what Sister Maria Innocentia said about my mother?”

For once the nun didn’t answer immediately, but hesitated, her voice quieter when she finally did respond. “Maria Innocentia lived in a world that was haunted by the deepest and most unconquerable evil. I must hope that she was wrong.”

“Most women who come to a convent such as this provide a dowry. Did Sister Maria Innocentia pay her own?” Diana asked.

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not the treasurer for this community. I wouldn’t know.” She produced a ring of keys from her belt and unlocked the cell door. “For your mother’s memory I’ll grant you five minutes.” She motioned inside the cell.

Diana nodded in appreciation. As she prepared to step across the threshold the nun touched her shoulder. “If your fears are correct, you should know that no one will help you. You’ll be on your own.”

Siobhan stepped forward. “I’ll help her.”

The nun gave her a sympathetic smile and stepped aside, holding open the door to the cell for them.

Diana stepped in, followed by Siobhan. The cell was no bigger than Francesca’s although at least Maria Innocentia had been able to leave it. There were essentially the same furnishings, straw mattress, table and chair, small shelf. A tiny window looked down on a field and the nuns’ graveyard. As Diana watched, several nuns were even now hacking at the ground, digging a fresh hole, no doubt for none other than Maria Innocentia. At least she would be buried on consecrated ground. Whatever sins she had committed, she deserved at least that much.

Across the walls and ceiling of the room, Maria Innocentia had drawn figures in chalk. Across the lowest levels, men and women danced and frolicked in fields of wheat and sunflowers. The nun had surprising skill at drawing; although the chalk figures were comparatively simple, the anatomy was precise and detailed. The figures were sensuous. A male figure bent a nude female back over his own arm, preparing to place a kiss on her throat. Another male reached out for a woman’s long tresses as she ran from him, laughing. Above these scenes, at eye level, kings and dukes sat on their thrones. Around them soldiers made war, gouging out each other’s eyes and intestines with military forks and swords. Above these kings and soldiers flew a host of angels with their gossamer wings and beautiful features. Yet if one looked closely one saw that the angels were mockeries. Each had an unholy imperfection; a cloven hoof, crosses instead of circles for pupils, fanged teeth. Above them still, across much of the breadth of the ceiling was drawn a great gaping maw with a dozen rows of sharp, inward facing teeth. A host of dead souls were drawn being sucked into this maw, clawing and screaming for their very survival, but ultimately swallowed into the dark oblivion at the center.

“Oh, dearest God,” Siobhan whispered.

“Does it make you think of anything?” Diana asked, staring at the images.

“It makes me think the woman must certainly have been mad.”

Diana shook her head. “It’s the inverse of the inferno painted inside the duomo at Saint Zenobius. There, the wicked are tortured in Hell around the base of the dome, but higher up the righteous enjoy the company of the saints until at last there is Christ upon his throne. Here, the contrary. The living enjoy the pleasures of life, disturbed only by the wicked designs of their worldly masters. Up higher the angels promise salvation but, in truth, they are devils and what awaits us is not heaven but oblivion.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Siobhan said simply, “Well, I hope she’s wrong about that part at least.”

Diana glanced around the rest of the room, but there clearly was no more. She had hoped to find a hidden manifesto with a clear explanation for Maria Innocentia’s accusations about her mother’s death. There was nothing though—only, indeed, the pain of a disturbed woman who had ultimately known too much about the evils of men.

Diana stepped back out into the hall. She glanced at Sister Ophelia. “Thank you for letting me see how she lived. I would like to see that she is offered a proper burial stone. I will make arrangements for payment.”

Sister Ophelia dropped her eyes and bowed. “Of course. I am sure she would be touched by your generosity.”

With a look to Siobhan, Diana turned back to the stone stairs and found her own way out. Outside the first languid flakes of a late winter snowstorm were making their appearance, lazily drifting down from the sky above.

Diana made her way back over to the anchoress’ cell. Francesca opened the little shutters wide when she saw that Diana had returned.

“Diana,” she said, softly, “I didn’t mean to offend you with my prophesy. You didn’t ask for my intervention. I should not have forced it on you.” She looked down at her own hands, which quivered slightly.

Diana remained silent for a moment, regarding the other woman. Even through the veil, Diana could see that Francesca was beautiful, she was sweet in demeanor, she was sincere. She would have made an excellent wife and mother. At last Diana asked, “Are you happy here?”

Francesca’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes! I am free of the temptations of this world and through my little window—” She pointed back into her cell at the other transom that looked in on the chapel. “—I can see the image of the Virgin, and pray for her intercession on behalf of my immortal soul. There’s nothing else that I could want.”

Diana thought about that for a moment. She pulled her own dress tight around her, noticing the winter air that seemed to be sweeping in on them. “Don’t you feel the cold?” she asked at last, not knowing what else to say.

Francesca smiled broadly and shivered. “Oh yes, I’m freezing.”

Diana took Francesca’s hand and squeezed it briefly, then she turned back, and began the long walk down the arched path.

Siobhan walked beside her. “Are you all right, lady?”

Outside the arched walkway, the indolent flakes of snow came down in greater numbers like ash from a volcanic burst. They were beautiful against the backdrop of the bare cypress trees. The earth seemed so naked of life, and still resplendent in its severity. Diana looked up at the arched roof. She felt tears in her eyes, stinging them. “I feel so sad” was all she could say. “I’m not even sure why.”

She felt Siobhan’s arm around her. “You’ve just lost your mother. It will take time before you’re right again. Come, we’ve had enough adventures for today. It will be dark soon and your father will be missing us. Let us get home and have some hot food. Things will seem better then.”

A wave of exhaustion seemed to overtake Diana. They had so long to walk still. Diana could only nod and let Siobhan lead her back into the city. She longed for hot food and sleep and for things to somehow be very, very different than they were.

Chapter Five

The Prince

By the time they made it back into the city proper, a dusting of snow covered the roads and the roofs. The flakes came down faster, steadier. The sky turned from gray to black, the city punctuating the dark only with the light of candles, lamps, and the glow of fireplaces through paned glass. Diana felt exhausted; her energy drained, her thoughts fuzzy. She wanted nothing more than to settle in back at home, perhaps have a bit of food before getting under the covers and letting sleep overtake her. Her father might inquire where she’d been all day, but he’d have to wait for answers. She didn’t want to talk to him. He wouldn’t approve. He might even forbid her from continuing down her path, and she’d ignore him of course. What remained between them would crack and what would she do then?

Diana stumbled back inside the Savrano family palazzo. Siobhan took her coat. Lamp light flickered. The smell of meat beckoned to her empty stomach.

Before she could relax, an old family slave, a Byzantine woman named Agathi, approached. “Lady Savrano,” she said softly, eyes averted, “a caller has come for you. He insisted on waiting until you returned.”

Bewildered, she followed Agathi into the study where a young man lingered. He hovered near the flickering fireplace, examining one of her father’s books. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, slender, wiry with thin black hair. His face was narrow, his nose like a bird’s beak, his eyes cool and intelligent. He might have been handsome in a way had his manner communicated a modicum of warmth.

“I present Lady Savrano,” Agathi intoned.

Diana blinked. “Agathi, will you see that we are brought some wine and dinner?”

“Of course, lady,” the old woman agreed before shuffling off.

The visitor put the book down and took a step toward her, regarding her with his narrow eyes. “Lady Savrano, I did not mean to inconvenience you with the need for food and wine.”

In the study, a little table sat to one side for reading and note taking. Diana’s legs wobbled and so she took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs. “I’m famished, so it’s no bother.”

The stranger sat across from her without waiting to be invited. “I am grateful for your hospitality. I should introduce myself. I am Niccolo Machiavelli. I work for the Republic of Firenze.”

Diana wrinkled her nose. “You should speak with my father then. If he were to see you dining with me in such an intimate setting as this, he would have his sword at your throat.”

Niccolo sat back in his chair, increasing the distance between them. “I meant no impropriety. It is you with whom I have come to speak, however. As for your father, I think that you will find him late coming home this evening. His business experienced an unexpected inspection.” His eyes seemed to twinkle in the light from the fireplace.

“Is that so?” Diana regarded the man with a critical eye. In the silence, Agathi returned with a bottle of wine, glasses, and plate of stew for each of them. It took Agathi two trips in quick succession and Diana remained silent until the slave woman left them for good. “Are you here about my mother then?”

“More or less. Specifically I am concerned with the death of the nun called Maria Innocentia outside of Saint Zenobius Basilica, although I have heard it said that there might be some relation to your mother’s death.”